


Whisper To Me, Help Me Remember

by LaLainaJ



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: But Not TO Canon, Canon-Typical Violence, Ensemble Cast, Eventual Smut, F/M, Memory Loss, Mind Manipulation, Uses TO Characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-06-07 20:10:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 47,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6822241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaLainaJ/pseuds/LaLainaJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tristan de Martel spent years planning to take Klaus down and he succeeds. But with no white oak he can't kill him, and keeps Klaus locked away. Barely alive, but completely aware, Klaus thinks of little but revenge.</p><p>One day Freya appears and sets him free, the culmination of a decade of her own work. Klaus sets out to find and wake his siblings intending to take Tristan down once they're all together. But a wrinkle appears when he hears news of Caroline, hears that she's with Tristan, and has been working to keep him down.</p><p>But something is not quite right with her. Klaus is determined to get to the bottom of what she's been doing, and why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Windows Were Barred

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cupcakemolotov](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cupcakemolotov/gifts).



> A birthday gift for Cupcakemolotov, a gift to the Klaroline fandom. This work is done and will be updated on Fridays!

**Chapter One: Windows Were Barred**

It's impossible to accurately gauge the passage of time. At least in any traditional way. Klaus quickly comes to berate himself for his reliance on modern conveniences.

He's at a disadvantage to begin with, has no idea how much time has passed between the time he'd fallen and the time he'd come to, strapped to a table with a needle in his arm. Hundreds of vampires and dozens of witches had stormed the New Orleans compound, rudely interrupting brunch. Klaus and his siblings had put up a grand fight, but it hadn't been enough. By the end the floors had been slick with blood, limbs strewn about, the building partially demolished.

But one by one they'd fallen.

Kol first – he'd never quite learned caution and his recent resurrection led to him thinking himself invincible. A group of opponents had snuck up on him from behind. He'd fallen face forward, stiff and grey. Not exactly sporting but Klaus had expected nothing less from Tristan de Martel. Klaus had roared his rage, beheaded two attackers with a single slash of his arm. But he hadn't been able to save the others either. Elijah went down last, his face etched in mournful agony, eyes clouding over when the dagger dug into his heart.

The last thing Klaus had seen was Tristan's face. He'd looked astonishingly pleased with himself as he'd stood over Klaus, his fingers running reverently over a dagger. He'd leaned in, pressed the tip of it to Klaus' chest, between the lengths of spelled chain that kept him down. He dug in the slightest bit and twisted. Blood dampened his shirt but Klaus had refused to react to the pain. He'd stared past Tristan, memorized the faces of those that still lived.

" _It took me sixty years, Klaus," Tristan confided, his tone jovial. As if he expected Klaus to find his plotting impressive. "Sixty years, hundreds of leads, meetings with witches on every continent. All to make this splendid set of daggers. To make certain that they'd work on you. That there would be no consequence of my wielding them."_

_Most of the vampires who milled about refused to look at Klaus. The few who did, the ones who watched avidly, gleeful and anticipatory? Those he'd take the longest to kill._

_Tristan's hand whipped out, slapping Klaus across the face. "Pay attention," he admonished._

_Klaus let out a laugh, dry and cold. "Your self-congratulatory drivel lacks style, mate. Get on with it. I grow bored."_

_Rage flashed across Tristan's face but he shuttered it quickly. His hand shook, just the smallest amount as he slid the blade in deeper, scraped it against bone. "Still so confident. Why is that, I wonder? You've lost. You'll be in a box, your family right alongside you. I'm genuinely curious. How is it that you think you'll prevail?"_

_Klaus shrugged, feigned nonchalance, because he sensed that it would eat at Tristan more than any rage, "Call it a hunch."_

_He could see Tristan struggling, see the need he had to rub his victory in Klaus' face. But he restrained himself, with great effort. Klaus smirked at him, leaned forward, and forced the blade deeper into his chest. He'd not been kidding about finding Tristan's pontificating tedious. And if Tristan believed, for a single second, that Klaus only had one plan in play – that he'd relied solely on the combined physical prowess of he and his siblings to ensure victory – then he was a special kind of imbecile._

_They'd smuggled Freya out of the city weeks ago, and few witches alive could break his sister's cloaking spells. Marcel and Davina had departed the night before last – a not inconsiderable contingent of guards with them._

_Messages, breadcrumbs of a sort, to his most loyal and capable sirelings, had flown out. Rebekah and Elijah had done the same. Kol no longer had a line but his contacts with various covens throughout the world were another avenue to exploit. And they'd contacted Tristan's known enemies, in the hopes of keeping him busy. Letters, of a more personal sort, advising those that might have targets painted on them to be careful, had made their way into the post as well._

_Klaus could only hope that Caroline's reached her in time. Her travels throughout Europe were sporadic, she hopped from country to country according to unpredictable whims. She was hard to track, even for one with his reach. Klaus' only comfort was his certainty that Tristan would have similar difficulties in pinning her down. If a message didn't get to her Klaus sincerely hoped that the Salvatore's would think to track her down. They were in Mystic Falls, guarding the doppelgänger, but heads would roll if one of them didn't bloody well manage to detach themselves from whatever invisible lead kept them tethered to Elena to ensure Caroline's safety._

" _Any last words?" Tristan asked, raising his voice so the room at large could hear._

" _I think I'll save them, if you don't mind. For someone more important," Klaus told him, injecting all the condescension he can muster into the words, knowing it would infuriate Tristan. He'd always thought himself Klaus' better, assumed being born into wealth and power meant Tristan deserved them. Had resented Klaus' ability to take such things._

_Tristan's lips thinned and his teeth ground together, just before the dagger slid home and everything began to fade. The last thing Klaus heard, as if from a great distance, was the pop of a champagne cork._

_Let them celebrate, Klaus thought, letting the darkness settle. Because this was just a skirmish. He'd no idea how long he'd be down. But he wasn't dead. And he knew why. Tristan didn't have the means to kill him. And as long as Klaus was alive he wasn't beaten. There were always options, paths of resistance._

_Possibilities._

_Klaus had never experienced a daggering but he was aware of how they worked. Kol's rages and the spiteful words Rebekah often flung when they fought, had both conveyed that to be daggered was to exist in a state of nothingness. That the years, decades or centuries, rolled by without incident or notice. They woke, shocked at how the world had changed, often struggled to acclimate._

_Tristan's daggers functioned differently. Klaus knew it was by design. A form of torture, a way to remind Klaus that he'd lost. He'd come to awareness slowly, his mind sluggish and his limbs unwilling to obey commands. He could barely move a muscle, further hindered by the thick straps across his body. The room was foreign and very bright, artificial light glinting off white walls. He'd spied a blood bag, several feet above his head._

_And once again, Tristan had been there. He'd tapped the bag mockingly, the blood sloshing in the plastic. "The dagger's quite genius, isn't it? Inhibits the magic that makes you what you are, keeps you weak as a kitten. The blood will keep you lucid. Because what fun would letting you desiccate be? Just a few drops here and there. Just enough to sustain you. What sort of punishment is it, if you cannot think about your wrongs? Perhaps you'll even come to regret an action or two."_

_If he could have moved he would have rolled his eyes. Trust Tristan to frame this as an act of benevolence, some sort of misguided hybrid rehabilitation program. To think himself the hero. Klaus was certain that the only thing he'd ever come to regret was not killing Tristan when his usefulness as a decoy had run its course._

_And because he was the sort who adored the sound of his own voice Tristan droned on, "Now, I regret to inform you that I must leave. I'll pop by to visit of course, but I'll likely be busy cleaning up the messes you've left. Aurora insists that I allow her to see you too, so you've that to look forward to. Poor thing still thinks you're worth loving. I hope she doesn't take it too badly, once you die. And I assure you that you will, as soon as I can arrange it. But you're in good hands in the meantime. Your care and feeding instructions will be strictly followed." He'd flicked the dagger, a burning sensation searing Klaus' nerves in response. "I'll see you in a couple of months, Klaus."_

_Klaus listened to Tristan's footsteps fade, the undoubtedly fine Italian leather of his shoes making only the softest of sounds._

_And then he'd waited._

_And planned._

While he cannot mark hours and days in the ways he's come to rely on, he can piece together its passing in other ways. There are four vampires that guard him. They check on him, administer the drops of blood that keep him just on the edge of desiccation. Each sends a text upon completing a check or a paltry feeding. He's unsurprised by the degree of Tristan's micromanagement.

Number One makes six visits, including one feeding, only to be replaced by Number Two who does the same. Followed by Three, then Four, and then One again. It's an ever repeating loop. Unchanging.

Tristan returns just after the forty-sixth cycle of feedings begins, lets Klaus have a few extra drops, enough to ensure he's perfectly aware. Tristan takes a great deal of pride in enumerating what he's been up to, relishes informing Klaus of which allies he's managed to track down and eliminate. There had only been one of any importance, at that first visit. More follow, but Klaus gets the feeling that Tristan's displeased at the slowness of his progress though he remains boastful and overly confident.

Klaus takes the small joys where he can get them. Finds comfort in the fact that he's nowhere near out of avenues. Klaus is certain that Tristan would not be able to resist the urge to gloat should he manage to find Freya or Marcellus. Klaus rests relatively easier, each time Tristan leaves without a word about them, knowing they were out there, active and unharmed.

That small dose of satisfaction does not eliminate his need to scream in frustrated boredom, however.

When Aurora shows herself, nine and a half cycles after her brother, Klaus almost wishes for Tristan's self-congratulatory recital of his perceived victories. She touches him constantly, speaks like they are infatuated lovers, separated by mere days and not centuries. She departs each time with a vow that they'll be together one day.

She'd always been flighty, bordering on delusional. But the years had seemed to make her perception of reality even foggier. Even _if_ Klaus had been as naïve as he'd been when he'd known Aurora, completely ignorant of what it took to _survive_ , he'd not have forgiven her part in his own imprisonment, or that of his family.

It becomes beyond monotonous, only his will keeping him sane, and sometimes by the thinnest of threads. Klaus' plans grow more savage each time Tristan visits. Each time Aurora drapes herself over him and murmurs nonsense about how this is all for his own good.

They will take a very long time to die, the pair of them, once Klaus is released. Though they will wish for it during every second of their continued existence.

Klaus rarely makes the effort to open his eyes when one of his keepers enters the room anymore. He can identify them by scent, by the cadence of their heartbeats.

On this day, when one enters, he only notes that it's Number Three, as expected. Number Three chews gum and seems the most reluctant to be near Klaus. He might be Klaus' favorite, if he's being honest. Number One had a fondness for cheap cherry cigars and Number Four hums. Constantly and loudly. Number Two is the only one who touches Klaus regularly, pinches and pokes, occasionally slices into him with a scalpel, tiny cuts that take ages to heal. Klaus gathers that it's not technically in his job description, because Number Two is careful about where he does it, keeps the wounds hidden.

Klaus eagerly anticipates the day he's able to take his revenge.

It takes him longer than it should, to realize that something is off. But it's been 1135 cycles so perhaps his rustiness is understandable.

He regrets it when it becomes clear that his lapse is not without a witness. The door had opened again, more quickly than it usually does. Klaus' face is tapped, none too gently. Not something that's happened, in all his time in this cell. He pries his eyes open, shocked to see a familiar face hovering above him.

He's not hallucinated, not once during the duration of his captivity. But he wonders if that's what this is, if he's finally taken to imagining a rescue.

It's gradual, the almost forgotten feeling of strength that trickles through his limbs. His fingers tingle and it's only a voice in his head, one that's not his own, that stops him from moving. "Be still, Niklaus," comes the hiss. Freya's face is set to her sternest expression, the one she'd always worn when attempting to play the big sister. She's aged a bit, her hair longer and plaited away from her face.

The changes are what convince Klaus that she's really there. Because if she was only in his mind, wouldn't it have been exactly as he'd last seen her?

She's opened the valve on the blood bag and Klaus can feel it working. His extremities begin to ache but he welcomes the pain, flexes his fingers. They crack, protesting the long period of disuse.

"You must be quiet," Freya instructs, still in his mind. "And do as I say."

The order does not sit well with Klaus and Freya must sense it because her eyes turn hard and exasperated. "Until we're out of the building at least. I have spent more than a decade planning this. If you'd like to ruin it, perhaps spend another few years in this room, while Tristan continues killing those who might help us, making things even _more_ difficult, be my guest."

Not an option. Klaus nods once, a quick tense jerk. Freya sighs, relieved, and produces another bag of blood. "Good, now drink this. You're going to need to do some compelling."

* * *

Caroline's eyes open, arm lifting to smother the gasp that flies out of her mouth. It's jarring to wake up from a dream, one so very _vivid_ , and find herself alone in her familiar room.

She rarely awakens gently. But she's learned to do it quietly, to avoid the prying that Tristan and Aurora attempt when they get wind of her disturbed sleep. She does it even when they're not occupying the same house as Caroline, so deeply ingrained is the habit. They're both very old, though they've never specifically numbered their centuries for her. Both have senses more finely honed then Caroline can imagine. The dreams had started years ago, not long after she'd first woken up with aching gums and a burn in her throat and no idea who she was.

_A bloody wrist was shoved in her face and she'd bitten down instinctively, drinking deep to sate the need that clawed at her. She barely noticed the woman who petted her hair while making soft crooning noises, unable to focus on anything but the hunger._

_She kept going until the blood thinned, and the body fell unceremoniously on to the ground next to her._

_Her mind raced, breaths came quick and ragged. She flinched back from the white handkerchief that was dangled in front of her face._

" _For the blood, Caroline. You've made a bit of a mess." It was the woman who spoke, a warm teasing lilt as she leaned into Caroline. But Caroline ignored her for now, eyes locked with the pale blue pair of a man who loomed over her, his posture straight and smile gentle._

_There was something underneath, a tinge of something superior that made Caroline think the outer sweetness a lie._

" _Who…" her voice cracked and she cleared her throat, belatedly reaching out for the starched linen he offered. "Who are you?"_

_His forehead creased, words slowly formed, "My name is Tristan de Martel. And that's my sister, Aurora." Caroline glanced to the side, at the pretty redhead who sat next to her on the bed. She tossed Caroline a sunny smile, resumed humming as she smoothed Caroline's curls. Her attention was drawn back to Tristan, when he crouched and took her hand. His next question was filled with concern, "You seem a bit confused. What's the last thing you remember?"_

_An inquiry that should have been simple to answer. But one she found herself unable to. Because she remembered nothing. Not how she had come to be in bed, in the room, not who these people were or how she knew them. Aurora had called her Caroline but she had no idea if that was right or not._

_She couldn't remember her name._

_Her next inhale was shaky, the exhale coming fast and harsh as her heart began to pound. Panic made her sweat, bile rising and stomach rolling, like the warm blood she'd just poured into it was going to make another appearance._

_Tristan stood, his cold hands cradled her face as he dabbed at the blood she had smeared on her lips. "Hush, my dear," he crooned, eyes soft and brimming with something like pity. "They told us this might happen. I'd hoped they were wrong, but it's no matter. You're safe with us. We'll always take care of you."_

_She'd been wary. His touch was meant to be comforting, his hands soft, but it felt wrong. But she knew instinctively that panic was not the answer, that letting her emotions overcome her hold on reason was a bad idea. She needed to think, to observe. To plan. She clenched her fists, dug her nails into her palms until it hurt and forced herself to focus on slowing her breaths. Caroline let her eyes drift past Tristan and began to count the bricks in the wall until her mind stopped whirling._

_When she felt more in control she met Tristan's eyes again, found him observing her approvingly. "There's a girl," he praised, hands skimming down her arms to take a hold of hers. "That's the Caroline I know. Now, I'm very sorry for what Klaus did to you. But I promise he can't hurt you anymore. I made sure of it, pet."_

" _Klaus?" she asked, pleased that her voice didn't waver. "Who's Klaus?"_

_The answer to that was long, and complicated. Tristan explained that Caroline was special, a vampire, like he and Aurora were. And that Klaus Mikaelson was the first of their kind. An Original. But he was more than that. A Hybrid. The self-crowned king, his brutality legendary. Klaus was a monster obsessed with power and would hurt anyone who dared to defy him._

_Something Tristan had done._

" _I was tired of his rule, tired of my people, good people, living in fear of losing their lives for the tiniest offences. Klaus is mercurial, chaotic. Coarse and contemptible. We watched him, plotted, and strategized. But he caught wind of it, just before we were set to spring. Took you, thinking you'd be the weakest link in my inner circle, that you'd betray me."_

" _Did I?" Caroline wondered._

_He smiled, pressed a reverent kiss to the back of her hand. "No, pet. You did not. He underestimated you, your strength. Your loyalty. You gave him nothing."_

" _No matter what horrid things he did to you," Aurora chimed in, her head lying heavily on Caroline's shoulder. "You were so broken when we found you, my darling. Starved and chained and bloodied. Limbs all twisted and grotesque. Bits of wood sticking out of your pretty skin."_

_Tristan shot Aurora a quelling look as his thumbs stroked Caroline's fingers soothingly, "He tortured you, for weeks. It's probably a blessing you can't remember it. Klaus is… inventive."_

" _But why can't I remember?"_

_Aurora tapped her temple gently, "Not all torture is physical, lovely. Klaus excels at breaking minds and spirits as well as bodies."_

" _We suspect he entered your mind," Tristan told her carefully. "Possibly had some witches in his employ do the same. Your memories appear to be gone, Caroline. He took them from you. Likely thinking he could turn you against us if you no longer remembered all that we'd done for you."_

_She swallowed hard, absorbed the news. Tristan straightened, dusted off his pants and offered a hand to Aurora. She let him pull her off the bed and tuck her into his side. His free hand reached out, rested heavily on Caroline's shoulder. "Sleep, now. Don't worry about a thing. I'll send a servant to collect the remains of your meal shortly. We'll speak more in the morning. But I meant it when I said I'd take care of you, Caroline. You belong with us."_

_Aurora broke away, just before Tristan could lead her to the door. She bent down to press a kiss to Caroline's cheek. "We're the greatest of friends, you and I. You'll see."_

_She flashed one last happy grin and she and Tristan departed, flicking off the lights and closing the door behind them with a solid thunk leaving Caroline alone in the dark._

_Caroline laid back on the bed, found the mattress plush and the bedding sumptuous. She couldn't have imagined being more comfortable. And yet she was unable to rest, as Tristan had suggested, her mind replaying the conversation in a loop. She closed her eyes when she heard a noise outside the door. Feigned sleep when someone bustled in. She cracked her eyes open enough to see the body she'd drained hefted over a slender man's shoulder like it was the smallest of burdens._

_He left quickly, did not spare her a glance._

_Caroline sat up, tiptoed out of bed, and settled into a seat by the window. The night sky was navy, littered with stars. Nothing was the least bit familiar. She rested her head on the pane of glass, curled her legs under her and willed her mind to stop spinning._

_But nothing worked, and she'd sat there until dawn, tracking the lightening skies. Groped for something, a single tiny tidbit of a memory, that would tell her who she was._

_In the morning, an older woman bustled into the room, and Caroline startled. She was dressed in a simple black dress and a white apron, carried a small tray that held a single empty glass. She made a disapproving noise once she spied Caroline's position. "You're supposed to be abed, Miss Caroline."_

_Then she dug her hand into her front pocket, a thin metal blade held between her fingers when it re-emerged. Her hand was steady as she sliced into her wrist, and let her blood flow into the glass. A sharp pain in Caroline's gums made her wince, her vision growing sharper as it narrowed in on the wound. She wanted to spring, her muscles coiled tight in readiness. She wanted to hold the woman down and sink her teeth in deep. But she restrained herself, her fingers tearing holes in the cushion she sat on as she forced herself to stay put._

_She would not lose control._

_When the glass was full the woman withdrew a length of gauze and wrapped the wound efficiently. She set the blood on Caroline's bedside table and began to make the bed. "Miss de Martel will be along shortly to help you dress for breakfast. Now, drink your blood before it gets cold. I imagine you've all sorts of questions and a long day ahead of you."_

_Hesitantly, Caroline slipped off the window seat and made for the glass. It smelled heavenly, and she inhaled deeply as she brought it to her lips. She'd meant to take a dainty sip but it just tasted too good and she sucked back a hearty gulp. Three more swallows and the glass was finished. Caroline caught a drip with the tip of her finger, sucked it off her skin, unwilling to waste._

_She set the glass down and the maid glanced over, a kind smile on her face. "Bathroom's the door on the left," she told Caroline, with a nod across the room. "If you'd like to clean yourself up."_

_Returning the smile Caroline padded over to the indicated door, slipped into the room. She was drawn to the mirror, spent a long time staring at the face reflected back. No sign of injury remained her skin smooth and without a blemish when she stripped out of the long white nightgown she wore. Her hair was a mess, matted with dirt and stained burgundy in places. Caroline fumbled through the drawers until she found a comb and attacked the tangles viciously, ignored the pain as she tore at her scalp._

_It was an odd feeling. She knew what she was supposed to do, recognized the comb's purpose. There was a toothbrush and toothpaste lying next to the sink and Caroline knew how to use them, too. Even sort of knew what taste to expect. But she has no idea where she'd learned those things, who'd taught her. Could not recall the first time she'd done them, or even the last time._

_When she thought about it there was nothing but an endless blank stretching out before last night._

_Mechanically she stepped into the shower, turned the water on and let it run hot. She ducked her head under the spray just as she heard the door to the other room open. Aurora's voice rang out, questioning the servant._

_Caroline squeezed her eyes shut, let the water soak her hair, let it pound around her ears and drown out the sounds in the next room. She needed a moment of peace. She knew nothing of herself, of who she'd been or what she'd done. But it seemed like Aurora might. And Tristan had promised answers. Something felt off but Caroline needed to stick around to hear what they had to say._

_She had to have something to go on, if she was ever going to figure this out._

_Caroline spent a very long time in the shower that first morning, until her skin was bright pink and the water that dripped from her hair was no longer stained with the remnants of dried blood._

_Aurora was settled on one of the chairs in the corner, a delicately patterned cup in her grasp, when Caroline emerged wrapped in a towel. She studied Caroline for a moment, like she was searching for something, head tipped to the side in deep contemplation. But she shook herself, set the cup down. "Let's get you dressed for breakfast, hmm? Tristan's ever so fussy about his precious schedule. He's in meetings all afternoon and will be unbearable if he's even a second late."_

_She strolled into the closet without another word, emerging with a blue dress. She threw it on the bed and Caroline found she was completely unenthused about the prospect of putting it on. The color was fine, would likely be flattering, but the neckline was very modest, the length demure. Aurora tossed a cardigan and a pair of low-heeled sandals next to it. She let out a giggle at Caroline's face. "Awful, isn't it? Tristan's never quite adjusted to the modern fashions for women. He keeps quiet, save for the odd sour face. But he insists we keep to a certain dress code for meals at home."_

_Eyeing Aurora's own dress, long sleeved and pale yellow, Caroline mentally shrugged. She wanted answers, saw no point in courting Tristan's anger over something as trivial as wardrobe. It was not as if she remembered what she liked. For all she knew that was the style she preferred._

_She put the clothes on, sat patiently while Aurora pinned up her hair and applied makeup. The other woman chattered as she did it and Caroline had difficulty following, the subject changes both rapid and without logical course. Aurora spoke wistfully of an old love she'd never gotten over and of another man, a long term on/off lover, who she was displeased with. He'd had his head turned by a witch, but Aurora was certain he'd come crawling back. Lucien always did, she confided. Caroline was told that Tristan, as a consequence of ousting Klaus, was up to his ears in 'petty bureaucratic nonsense', which Aurora found tedious. Mostly because it prevented her brother from taking her to shop for the new horse he'd promised. They were just outside of Rio de Janeiro but would depart within a month (and it couldn't be soon enough, Aurora complained. The climate in South America was positively murder on her hair). Caroline filed the useful pieces of newfound knowledge away, resolved to consider them at greater length when she was alone. Finally, Aurora set her brushes down, tipped Caroline's head towards the light. She seemed satisfied with her work, "Pretty as a portrait, pet."_

" _Thank you," Caroline murmured, not allowing herself to shy away from Aurora's grip._

_She felt the sharp edge of nails, just for a moment. But the pressure was fleeting and Caroline wondered if she'd imagined it, along with the darkly calculating twist to Aurora's glossy lips. The other woman stood up and swept all of the cosmetics into a drawer. She flitted towards the door before Caroline could analyze the expression, and decide if it had been real. Aurora paused and whirled, an expectant brow raised. "Well? Are you coming? If we hurry Tristan will have no reason to be cross."_

_She was out the door before Caroline could answer. She was forced to hurry to follow Aurora. Caroline had no idea what lay beyond the room, or how to navigate the house. She only knew that it was a good distance from the ground, according to the view from her window. Situated on a sprawling estate. The last thing she needed was to get lost._

_She might have been starting a whole new life, unwillingly and with great reluctance, but there was no reason to stumble into it like a complete moron._

Straining her ears Caroline waits to see if her movements have disturbed anyone. In the beginning, when these dreams had started, one or both of the de Martel siblings had come rushing in, words of concern on their lips. Tristan was always eager to know about what had woken her. She'd offered scant details, claimed that she never remembered anything once she'd been pulled from sleep.

A lie. The dreams had been coming thick and fast these last few months. Sometimes she woke with a sensation - snow on her tongue, wind in her hair - so fresh in her mind that Caroline was shocked to find herself inside a luxe, spacious bedroom. This particular one, inside Tristan's main residence, she'd claimed as her own long ago. Its stone walls and fine antiques were familiar. She knows them, what they felt like. Scents like pine trees, popcorn, and a thick cloud of hairspray have no place in in this room in middle of the night.

Caroline sits up slowly, still listening. But the corridor outside her room remains quiet, no patter of footsteps coming to check on her, so it seems as though she'll be left to her own devices this time.

She reaches for the pad of paper next to her bed, and then lets her fingers burrow into the small gap between her headboard and mattress for the pencil she keeps there. She closes her eyes for a moment, tries to hold on to the images from her dreams. It's a girl this time, one she's dreamed of often. She's got thick dark hair, sometimes curly, sometimes pin straight. She's always beautiful but sometimes she's all sharp edges in Caroline's mind, steely and menacing. And sometimes she's doe-eyed and sweet, laughing and gentle. It's confusing.

The hair had had been straight in this last dream, and Caroline had been braiding it, sitting cross-legged on a bed in a cluttered room with yellow walls.

The girl had been talking, hands gesturing wildly, but Caroline can't remember what she'd said, or what her voice had sounded like. But the feel of her hair, sliding through Caroline's fingers, thick and smooth, had been so real. She's convinced it's a memory.

But that's supposed to be impossible. At least according to the witches Tristan had put Caroline in contact with after her memories had first been lost.

Her gut had never let her trust Tristan entirely. His cold blue eyes and the possessive, immensely satisfied, way he looked at her sometimes had always given her the creeps. But he'd never hurt her, had provided her with shelter and clothes. Had taught her how to control her hunger, how to lure and compel humans. Taught her to fight, both with swords and her bare hands. Schooled her in manipulation, how to pinpoint and exploit weaknesses in enemies. How to use their doubts against them, stroke their egos until they thought themselves untouchable. Encouraged her to use her body when necessary, insisted that seduction was just another weapon she could wield against Klaus' allies.

Sometimes she'd waver, tired of the endless tedious lies. She didn't know who she was, her memories beyond her reach. And she was constantly pretending, always wearing a mask. How could she ever figure out who she once was, or even who she wanted to be, if she was always someone else?

Tristan had a knack for sensing when she was at her most fed up, when she was wondering just what her purpose was.

" _He's still out there, Caroline. Contained, yes. But until we manage to break the sirelines, and synthesize white oak, we'll never truly be free of Klaus. There will always be people who follow him, who'll attempt to wake him."_

_He'd come into her room on silent feet while she'd been getting ready for bed. Taken the brush from her hands and stroked it through her hair, slow and methodical as he watched her face in the mirror._

" _And if he's free, what do you think becomes of us, pet? Of you? You held off for weeks but do you really think you could endure years, decades, of torture? With no hope for escape or rescue. I imagine he'll be even angrier than last time, when you merely refused to answer his questions. Klaus never did like to be thwarted."_

_Caroline let her eyes drop, unable to hold Tristan's steady, knowing gaze as dread sat heavily in her stomach._

_Klaus was the bad guy. Keeping him down was the right thing to do. That way he couldn't hurt anyone else like he'd hurt her._

_Tristan was silent for long moments, focused on smoothing the tangles from her hair. And then he changed the subject, wanted to talk about what she'd learned in the weeks she'd been away, if she had any leads that needed following up on. She'd just returned from Montreal, where she'd helped decimate a pocket of Klaus' supporters. Caroline was tired and the smell of gasoline and fire lingered in her mind._

_She wanted a drink, possibly several. She wanted her bed, and she wanted to be alone. She had no desire to talk of more death._

_Etienne, her last target, had been kind to her, and something about his dark eyes and olive skin had appealed to Caroline right from the beginning. He'd always seemed genuinely interested in her. Had called her beautiful even when she wore black veins and red eyes._

_She'd dreamed of a boy often after she'd met him. A boy with similar coloring, who'd smelled like fresh air and green leaves, with strong arms and laughing eyes. Who had made her feel safe. A boy she would have fought for, died for, killed for. A boy she'd felt connected with, like she never has to another in her current life._

_And now Etienne was dead._

_She can't mourn him, not with Tristan watching, his pale blue eyes assessing. Caroline mustered a smile, pushed her misgivings away, "Two leads. A coven of witches in Monaco. And a vampire named Martina. She…"_

" _Was turned in the 14th century. Of Rebekah's line," Tristan finished, looking thoughtful. "I'd not heard a whisper of her for ages."_

" _One of Etienne's guests had just come from visiting her. She's in Chile, with a sizeable contingent of vampires. Mostly new, but she's training them for something."_

_Tristan set the brush down, let his hands sift through her blonde waves, face set to determination, "Then I suppose you're going to need some new summer things, aren't you, pet?"_

She'd depart in four days, slip into the role of sweet young vampire tourist, eager to see the world. Every time she does it the disguise sits a little heavier, the lies taste a little bitterer. Because for all the time that she's pretended she's never seen much of what's out there.

Maybe someday she'll actually be able to.


	2. Like A Zombie

**Chapter Two: Like A Zombie**

Klaus follows Freya, maintaining his silence as directed, examining his surroundings. It's not what he'd expected. He hears the din that's only found in large cities as soon as he steps outside the room he'd been kept in. Finds himself looking out big windows at a recognizable skyline.

Tristan _would_ find the idea of Klaus' prison being in the middle of Chicago amusing.

The furnishings are non-descript, expensive and modern. It resembles a posh waiting room more than anything else beyond the four walls he's familiar with. It's the kind of corporate setting that Elijah would have fit right into. There's a woman at the desk, not much more than a girl really. Klaus has never seen her before. There's an open bottle of nail polish next to her limp hand, a bank of monitors behind her, and her cheek is resting heavily on the desk, her eyes closed. But her pulse is there, slow and steady.

Klaus is tempted to take a little taste, not yet at full strength. But Freya stops him, her hand latching onto his arm, her voice echoing inside his mind, "No. Not her. We have to hurry." The directive is firm and Klaus reluctantly lets himself be pulled away.

"Won't she sound an alarm when she wakes?" he wonders, assuming that the link goes both ways.

Freya shakes her head, "No. She has no idea who you are, or that you were in the room. She's human, thinks she works for the government. That there's some top secret something or other happening, that the vampires who come and go are agents. She monitors what happens in the building, compiles reports."

"For Tristan?"

"Yes."

They exit the office, into a beige hallway. Freya speaks, aloud this time, and it's mildly startling, as she issues crisp instructions. "We're on the sixth floor. We only looped the cameras on this level so you need to go out a window. West side of the building, into the alley. The office space on that end is being renovated. The construction workers should all be at lunch. If there's a straggler compel them to forget you, but do not kill them. We need to get away cleanly. There's an old friend waiting for you at the bottom. Do not kill him either, Niklaus. I mean it. Now go. _Quickly_."

One last hard glare and she's leaving his side, making her way to the bank of elevators. Without looking at him she makes an impatient gesture of her hand, and Klaus turns away, focusing his hearing when he reaches the farthest door on the correct side of the building. There's no movement inside, and Klaus slips in, immediately assaulted by the smell of fresh paint. He helps himself to a wooden stirrer, cracks off one edge to make a serviceable stake.

Just in case.

It takes him a moment to find a window that opens, because he assumes that Freya meant for him to leave no trace. It's a tight squeeze getting out but Klaus manages, dropping swiftly to the ground and landing on his feet.

He's a little shakier than he'd like, but that's to be expected.

"I considered moving the dumpster over, giving you a soft landing since you're not at your best. But I thought you might find that to be too much of a blow to your ego."

Klaus recognizes the voice, tenses. Freya had been right to call Lucien an old friend. And right to warn Klaus not to kill him. Turning slowly he spots Lucien immediately. He's in a doorway, his hand wrapped around Number Three's throat.

"Lucien," Klaus says slowly, taking a step towards him.

Lucien grins, waves with his free hand, seemingly unafraid. But then he'd always been reckless. "Nik. Been a while. You look awful, mate."

Number Three's eyes are wide and fearful and he struggles in vain against Lucien's grip. Klaus only pays him a moment's attention, just enough to ascertain that he's not a flight risk. "Imprisonment does that to a person."

"Surprised Tristan didn't spring for a change of clothes occasionally, to be honest. Those are horridly out of fashion. I'd not have thought his delicate sensibilities able to handle it. And I think we all know that Aurora would have no problem treating you as if you were a favorite doll."

"Yes, well," Klaus counters silkily, "You _would_ know them best, wouldn't you?"

"Certainly," Lucien parries back easily. "It's why my participation in this little rescue mission's been invaluable, if I might toot my own horn."

"Hmm. I must admit that I was surprised not to see you among Tristan's forces, the night I was captured."

"Oh, I was there," Lucien confesses. "Smart enough to stay hidden. In case things had gone pear shaped. Bag packed and jet on standby. Tristan gave me little choice in the matter."

Klaus grits his teeth, anger rising. He has to remind himself that he's not to kill Lucien just yet, that he might very well have an important role to play, "And I'm supposed to believe that you're on my side now? Why the change of heart?"

Lucien laughs incredulously, a touch derisive. "Come now. Tristan hates me nearly as much as he hates you. What do you think will happen when he's secured his position, eliminated the last of your people, no longer finds me useful? Do you really think he won't turn on me? If only so I can no longer despoil his sister with my servant's hands? You might not trust me but admit that I'm not an idiot."

Klaus considers Lucien carefully. He's _not_ stupid, Klaus knows. Ambitious, greedy, ruthless, yes, Lucien's all those things. A survivor, who could always be trusted to save his own skin. If Klaus was certain of anything regarding his old protégé it was that he could rely on that. "He'll die," Klaus declares, "Aurora too. There's no love lost between you and Tristan that I can believe. But you've been at Aurora's beck and call for centuries, according to my sources. Do you expect me to believe that you're suddenly over her?"

Lucien's expression remains neutral, the tiniest flicker of regret in his eyes. For Aurora's death or for his wasted years Klaus cannot be sure. "She'll never love me more than she loves you. And she'll never leave Tristan's side. I've accepted that."

"Three cheers for self-esteem," Klaus mocks coldly.

Lucien smirks, manages to sound self-deprecating, "A bit late, perhaps. But what can you do? The heart's awfully stubborn."

The sharp clip of high heels on concrete lets them know that someone approaches and they both turn to look, wary of a threat. It's only Freya and she steps into the alley, looking over her shoulder, cell phone tucked into her ear. "I'm clear. Thank you, Josh. I'll contact you with our next steps."

She keeps her eyes on Klaus as she makes her way to his side, glances between him and Lucien with pride, "Look at you, listening for once, playing nice. I'd wondered if you'd manage it. Half expected to have to deal with body disposal."

"Thanks ever so much for the concern, love. And don't pretend that you'd not miss me."

Freya barely reacts to Lucien's dry remark, save for the slightest twitch of her lips. Klaus makes a disgusted noise, the reasons for Lucien's willing participation suddenly clear, "You could do far better, sister."

Lucien, of course, takes offence. "I resent that. You've never _done_ me, have you? However would you know?"

Freya's nose wrinkles in disgust, "We've strayed alarmingly off topic. Let's remember why we're here. Klaus, you need to compel our good friend Lewis, if you will. And then we'll be making stops to visit your other guards."

"Sounds lovely," Klaus murmurs, eying Number Three. He has a name now, but that's hardly important. "I've been meaning to have a chat with them, discuss their standards of care."

But Freya insists on thwarting Klaus' fun. "Compelling _only_. We still need them. Tristan can't know you're gone until we've gotten Elijah, Rebekah and Kol. They'll make their reports as usual. Tristan was here last month so we have nine weeks until he returns."

He supposes that makes sense. The element of surprise was not to be taken lightly. "And Aurora? Tristan appeared like clockwork but her visits were randomly timed."

"That's where I come in!" Lucien tells Klaus cheerfully. "I'll be playing Mata Hari in this production, making Aurora think that I've come crawling back. Playing with me should distract her from wanting to go and _play_ with you."

Klaus takes another step in Lucien's direction at that, eyes sharp on his face, "Oh really? Sounds like the perfect setup for you to execute a double cross."

"Told you he'd say that," Lucien says, sounding bored.

"I'm not an idiot, Niklaus," Freya grits out in annoyance. "Do you really think I'd gamble ten years, our family?" She reaches over and yanks down Lucien's shirt, revealing a tattoo of an arrow, the lines thick and clumsy, in an odd shade of brown. "One of Dahlia's inventions, for when she needed a vampire to cooperate. She wasn't much for mutually beneficial bargains. That mark means I can kill him if I need to." She turns to Lucien, speaking pointedly, "And if he puts us at risk I _will_."

Lucien brushes her hand away, fixes his shirt, "Don't tease me, darling. Not with an audience."

Freya rolls her eyes, "I might kill him anyway, if he can't take this seriously."

Klaus finds he's still not ecstatic about this plan, with how little he knows. The idea that he's reliant on Lucien, even on Freya, makes him uneasy. But he has little choice at the moment. And he can admit they've done a decent enough job so far, that he'd still be rotting on that metal table without their interference. "Fine," he clips out briskly. "What am I compelling Number Three to do? And are we certain he's not on vervain? Seems unlikely that Tristan would not have taken precautions."

"He has it delivered monthly. We switched it out."

"Well done, sister," Klaus gives Freya a respectful nod.

She merely looks irritated with the praise. It's reminiscent of Rebekah, right before she begins to throw a furniture smashing tantrum. "I've done nothing but this for _ten years_ , Niklaus."

He should do a better job at remembering that. Maybe muster up a little gratitude. But Freya seems not to expect it, plowing ahead. "Here's what you need to do…"

Klaus listens carefully to the list of compulsions she rattles off, finding himself impressed once more, this time with Freya's thoroughness. "And then what? After we track down One, Two and Four?"

She seems to hesitate, "I was thinking we go to Elijah first."

"You know where he is?" Klaus questions.

"I know where they all are."

"Then we'll get Kol first," Klaus decides firmly. "He'll make the perfect distraction, should we need it."

Freya looks like she wants to argue but Lucien speaks, words thoughtful, "He'd be the least threatening to Tristan, has no sirelings left. And there's enough bad blood, what with all the daggerings that he could convince Tristan he's happy to let you remain imprisoned. Have him cause a little mayhem, keep everyone busy? Could work."

He's reminded then that Lucien's known Klaus for every bit as long as Klaus has known him. That he can follow Klaus' thoughts better than just about anyone else. A thing that could be useful, if Lucien's truly on his side. But could be a disaster if he's playing some other game. It's something Klaus will need to keep in mind, going forward. "Precisely," he confirms. "It's not what Tristan would expect. And I imagine he'll have the heaviest protections on Elijah, paranoid as he is. From the way Tristan speaks they've made no progress in breaking the lines. Taking Elijah out would effectively take Tristan out. Leaving the throne conveniently empty for someone else."

"To that end, we could possibly spread a little rumor?" Lucien suggests. "That white oak's been found. Tristan has people scouring the globe, and has all sorts of little geniuses toiling away in labs to whip up a test tube equivalent. No luck so far but if we make him think it's out there…"

"Throw another knife in the air, watch him scramble," Klaus muses. "Couldn't hurt."

"Lucien will handle that," Freya interjects. "You can't be making contact with anyone just yet."

Klaus reaches out to fix Lucien's collar, still a bit askew from Freya's manhandling, "Just so we're crystal clear…"

"Eternal torment, blood, guts, pain, for me and anyone I hold even the tiniest flicker of affection for, should I even think to cross you?" Lucien recites blandly.

"All that and more," Klaus promises. And he's never meant anything more. He relieves Lucien of his hold on Number Three, catches the vampire's frightened gaze, "Quiet. Don't struggle."

The vampire relaxes against the door, eyes blank.

"Handy," Lucien remarks. Maybe a little jealously.

"It is. Just think of all the things I could compel you to do, should you prove disloyal, old friend. Ever wonder about the taste of your own small intestine? I could help you discover it."

Lucien swallows, face twisted in distaste, "I think I can live without _that_ particular pleasure."

Klaus throws him one last smirk before returning to Number Three.

It seems he and Lucien understand one another.

* * *

It takes several long minutes before Caroline allows herself to relax, sure that her privacy will not be breached this night. She runs her secreted pencil through her fingers, flips to a fresh page in her notebook.

Everything she knows about herself is something Tristan has told her and sometimes she wonders how much of it is true. According to him her name was Caroline Forbes. Born and raised in Mystic Falls, Virginia. He'd produced a birth certificate, high school yearbooks. An old newspaper featuring an article about a beauty pageant win. Enough evidence for her to believe him, about that part. He'd claimed to have no idea how or why she'd been turned. Said she'd told him that she'd run away, that her parents had hated what she'd become, had tried to kill her. He'd produced books, filled with spiky writing, journals that had belonged to William Forbes, listing the best ways to kill vampires, detailing plans to eradicate them altogether. Pages upon pages about how they were abominations who didn't deserve to live. Other volumes, older still, talking about a council that guarded Mystic Falls from the supernatural. It contained family trees, including the Forbes's, dating back centuries.

It had been clear that William Forbes came from a long line with similar beliefs. Caroline could maybe understand why she'd felt she'd had no choice but to flee her hometown.

Tristan said that he'd met her in New Orleans. That she'd managed to piss off some important people in the city and she'd been in a tight spot. He'd told Caroline that she'd reminded him of his sister, and he'd taken her under his wing.

 _That_ she finds most unbelievable of all because she and Aurora are _nothing_ alike. Aurora was… unstable. To put it in really, really polite terms. Capable of great sweetness and miserable cruelty in equal measure, and prone to vacillate wildly between the two extremes, Caroline had never come to truly consider the other woman a friend, was careful to never allow a confidence to slip. She tended to avoid Aurora, as a matter of fact. Was never the first to seek her company though she's learned how to tolerate and make the best of the times Aurora demanded Caroline's attention.

It was lucky that Tristan so often had a use for Caroline and sent her away on errands to secure his interests.

He'd stepped into the role he'd taken from Klaus Mikaelson with great relish, expected his rules to be followed to the letter. Tristan had once told Caroline that Klaus was ineffective, that he'd played favorites and allowed certain people far too much freedom. That certain vampires and witches needed a firm hand, and that they'd come far too close to exposure. He'd had to do _something_ he'd insisted, his eyes bright and vehement. Klaus only concerned himself with the good of the few – himself, his siblings, and a handful of others. Tristan was convinced that the needs of the many would continue to be trampled on if he hadn't taken action.

But, having seized control, Tristan was _very_ concerned with maintaining it. He was paranoid, leery of threats, of the idea that someone would attempt to overthrow him. For good reason, considering the way he'd gained his power. Caroline was a convenient set of eyes and ears. Her youthful appearance caused older vampires to underestimate her, her natural friendliness and ability to turn on the charm meant she could weasel a degree of access. Eventually those she'd been sent to buddy up to let things slip. More than one had been free with words questioning Tristan's right to reign, made idle remarks about how maybe someone else could do a better job.

They always lost their heads, usually in a manner both flashy and brutal, with a handful of witnesses left to carry tales of the carnage. Caroline always slipped away in the chaos and if people remembered her they'd assume that she was no match for Tristan and his followers and that she'd been collateral damage, her body burnt to ash in whatever explosion they set to cover their tracks.

Once or twice she'd come across a survivor of Tristan's massacres. It was always nerve wracking, the possibility that someone would see through her flirtatious smiles and carefree laughter, and recognize her as a plant. But wide eyes and crocodile tears were an excellent distraction. A quavering voice talking about how frightened she'd been, how she'd been running and looking over her shoulder ever since, afraid that the _terrifying_ man was coming after her.

It always worked.

She was given sympathy. Comforted, offered protection. Told that there was a plan, something set in motion to overthrow Tristan, and did she want in?

The plans never changed, and the never worked. Each time she was told that they only needed to get rid of the de Martel's and then they'd all have _peace,_ would be _free_.

Caroline let Tristan know, and the threat was dealt with.

The cycle continued, year after year. But Caroline was never free.

She's been wondering, more and more, why she stays.

Whatever friendship she'd had with the siblings before Klaus had taken her has never felt authentic. Maybe it's her, maybe losing her memories has damaged her irreparably. But the fact remains that she's never been able to let her guard down. And while she'd been grateful for what they'd done for her, how they rescued her, shouldn't a decade of helping them in their various plots be enough?

She has a sinking feeling that the answer is no. That if she leaves it will have to be an escape, and that she won't be let go without consequences. That the timing will have to be just right, a plan carefully considered.

She asks herself if it would be worth it all the time.

Caroline sets the pencil to the paper, sketching what she can remember of the face of the girl from her dreams. A side profile, the rounded cheek. Thick lashes, the arch of a dark brow. She can never quite get the mouth right, not sure if it should be a gentle smile or a sly smirk. She's careful though, painstakingly shading in the details.

It's a new skill, drawing. She'd been pretty god awful at it in the beginning, the image in her head never translating to paper. But she'd improved. Wheedled some lessons out of a sweetly shy graduate student the last time she'd been in Italy. He'd been from London and she's found the way his accent wrapped around words entrancing. Listening to him speak about lines and shadows, proportions and symmetry, had been a pleasant distraction from the job she'd been sent to do. One of the few times Caroline can remember being content in this life.

She's had dreams which had featured a similar voice several times since then. It belongs to a more confident man, is at turns teasing and light, but sometimes forceful and hard-edged, in her mind. The images that accompanied those dreams were always blurry, out of focus. Sometimes she felt like she'd been dancing, woke up with her legs jerking against her sheets. Once or twice she'd woken up panting, skin hot and body uncomfortably aroused, because of memories of dirty words spoken low and rough in her ear. But she'd never seen a face.

Caroline sets the pencil down when she's satisfied, rips the paper out of her notebook. She studies the sketch she's created for long minutes, locking it in her memory. And then she gets up, grabs the lighter she keeps on her dresser to light the scented candles that dot the room. She lets herself into the en suite and runs the water in the sink. Flicks the lighter on, holds it to a corner of the paper.

Watches the flame consume the nameless girl's face.

She flushes the ash, a practiced routine. Tristan and Aurora aren't great at respecting boundaries, and though the servants are warm and kind they are not loyal to her. And Caroline had long since decided to keep some things to herself. If these dreams _are_ memories, clues to who she used to be, no one can know about them.

They belong to her.

Caroline won't allow them to be stolen a second time.

* * *

They take a different approach with Kol. It's rather less cloak and dagger – the security measures not as extreme.

Kol will take great offense to that, once he's told.

Klaus takes the liberty of contacting a coven Kol had been fond of (and they of him – generation after generation) having them meet up with him and Freya in the village closest to the estate Kol's being held in. They complain about the dreary Irish weather but cooperate; Klaus' promise of a cash reward an added incentive. They specialize in some fairly powerful magic that allows them to push a small storm into a rollicking one. An inconvenience for the townspeople but it neatly knocks out the estate's power supply. There's a generator, but it had been emptied earlier in the day (thanks to Klaus' compulsion and a couple of local teens). By the time the people who work on the estate manage to locate the barrels of gasoline in an outbuilding, fill the generator, and get it working, Klaus has slipped inside the house, broken open the coffin Kol's in and hurried his body out to a waiting vehicle.

Tristan hasn't bothered to supply blood for Kol. He's grey and still and dead to the world.

Klaus takes the driver's seat, his eyesight and reflexes being more suited to the navigation of the winding roads, slickened from the torrential downpour. He drives them towards Galway, knowing sustenance for Kol would be more easily found, and less likely to be noted, somewhere more populated.

Kol would be livid enough when he woke, no need to force him to choke down bagged blood. He'd not been undaggered long enough to really appreciate the convenience of it in small town Mystic Falls, had loathed the taste of the stuff. And they'd never bothered to keep it in the house with the abundance of tourists available to feed on in New Orleans after they'd managed to resurrect him.

Freya's quiet, anxious, continuously checks the rear-view mirrors like she expects a tail. But Klaus has been paying attention and he's certain they're in the clear.

It's sloppy of Tristan but that's exactly why Klaus had chosen this route. Tristan, as methodical and controlled as he was, would never have expected Klaus to go straight for Kol. Kol's a wildcard, prone to disrupt the best laid plans both purposefully and with his casual carelessness. _Tristan_ would never have left such a variable at loose ends so he'll not expect that _Klaus_ will be willing to. It helps that the contentiousness of his relationship with his younger brother was well known even amongst those who had no personal connections to the Mikaelsons. He and Kol had fought often, loudly and publically (and occasionally violently), after Klaus had managed to return his brother to the land of the living. Kol was not as grateful as Klaus had thought he should be, and no more willing to live as Klaus demanded. Kol, for his part, had been resentful of how his death had come about, thought he deserved a certain amount of respect since he had been absolutely right about raising Silas.

They had yet to come to an agreement when Tristan had attacked. Klaus rather doubted they ever would. Still, he knew his brother. A common enemy was the one thing that could unite them and being put down once more would not sit well with Kol. He'd want to play his part in making Tristan pay, particularly if it allowed him to live without limits for a time.

Freya still seemed to have some doubts about this particular course of action. Keeping his eyes on the road Klaus attempts to reassure her, "Kol's minder will want a hot shower and some food after battling the storm and that generator. We have more than a fair head start. It's possible they'll head straight to bed, won't bother with an unscheduled check on Kol."

"I know," Freya mutters absently. "I did the scouting, remember?"

"And did it brilliantly," Klaus compliments. "With a level of detailed paranoia that almost makes it seem like you'd spent centuries with us instead of just a few years."

She rolls her head to look at him, face flat and unimpressed with his joke, "I _have_ been running, Niklaus. You realize that, don't you? I had less than two years free of Dahlia and then Tristan came after you. There's a price on my head. Something like twenty million dollars, last I heard."

"Hmm. I think that's a bit of a low ball, to be honest. But it doesn't surprise me that Tristan's cheap."

She doesn't reply or even crack a smile. Klaus sobers, presses his lips together and considers his words carefully, "You won't have to run anymore, Freya. I promise you that."

Freya sighs, glances back at Kol's greyed form. She looks uneasy, and Klaus understands. Kol was never one to sit still, and rarely silent. Seeing him in such a state for the first time must be unnerving. "I know. And you're paying for a hell of a vacation when all this is done. Tropical island, fruity drinks, spas. You staying out of trouble and me not having to lift a finger for weeks."

"Done," Klaus agrees. The aftermath of this will be messy, loose ends in the form of Tristan's supporters, will need to be brought to heel. But he, Elijah, Rebekah and Kol are perfectly capable of handling that. Freya, as a witch, retains certain sensibilities about the sanctity of life. She doesn't have the stomach for the things Klaus and his siblings will be doing to secure their positions. Best for her to be away. With guards, of course. "Pick anywhere you want, sister. I'll make it happen."

She appears mollified, lets her body settle into her seat, "I'm going to hold you to that," she warns.

"I'd expect nothing less."

She _was_ a Mikaelson. And they always collected on their debts.

* * *

Descending the staircase the next morning Caroline's surprised by the flurry of activity she walks into. The front door is open, a car parked outside, servants loading luggage into it. Aurora's seated on a chaise, out of the fray, dressed for travel. A man Caroline's never seen before is perched on the arm of it, looking down at Aurora dotingly.

He glances up when she nears, his eyes widening in recognition. Caroline cringes, wishes she'd slept in and managed to miss Aurora's departure. It's always awkward when she has no recollection of people she'd met before she lost her memories, though she's only had to muddle through with a few of Tristan's most trusted allies. Aurora beams up at her, snags her arm and tugs her down. "Oh, Caroline! I'm so glad I caught you before we left. There is someone you _must_ meet. Caroline, this is Lucien, Lucien, this is Caroline, a very dear friend."

Huh. So maybe they _hadn't_ met before. She knows who he is, once Aurora gives her a name. The other woman's talked about him fairly often, over the years, though not as often as she speaks of a 'Nik.'

Caroline wonders if there was a tactful way to tell the guy that Aurora was into him, but not _that_ into him. And that Tristan hated his guts and would be happy to mount his head over the fireplace.

But that was probably none of her business.

She tunes back in to Aurora's rambling, "…what the fuss is about. But he's off to Ireland and Lucien's taking me to Milan. Promised to buy me all sorts of trinkets to make up for neglecting me all these years." Aurora finishes with an exaggerated pout she aims in Lucien's direction. There seems to be real hurt in her posture, accusation in her wide eyes.

If he notes it he doesn't comment or apologize. Lucien moves closer, throws an arm around Aurora, dropping a lingering kiss to her neck, "Absence makes the heart grow fonder, my love. Don't you agree, Caroline?" he asks and offers her a genial smile.

Caroline smiles tightly in response, "I wouldn't really know. Where's Tristan, Aurora?"

She rolls her eyes. "His office, of course. Been locked in there for ages."

"I should speak to him, see what's happening with my trip." Caroline rises, "Enjoy Milan. It was nice to meet you, Lucien."

"Likewise," he murmurs. "And I've a feeling our paths will cross again someday." His surety gives her pause and the considering look he wears makes her a little uncomfortable. But maybe that's just the way of really old vampires.

She leaves quickly, without a reply or a backwards glance. She dodges the frantic bustling of the staff on her way to Tristan's office. They seem frazzled, and if she had to guess she'd say it's because whatever's happened has put Tristan in a mood. He's not one to appreciate deviations from his plans and schedules.

She taps softly on his door, almost hopes that he won't answer. But his, "Enter!" comes immediately and she slips into his office. Tristan barely glances up, typing furiously on his laptop, "Caroline, have a seat. I'm afraid there's been a change of plans. You'll fly out tonight. And I'll need you to work quickly. Several things have happened overnight and any information you can get me could be crucial."

" _What_ has happened?" she asks tentatively, lowering herself into one of the leather armchairs that sit opposite the desk.

There's a hot flash of rage in his eyes before it's marshalled, Tristan's usual icy control overruling it. "One of the Mikaelsons has been released."

Caroline's breath catches, her hands curling around the arms of the chair, the instinctive kick of fear that name always inspires landing hard in her chest. "Klaus?" she asks. Because she has to _know_.

The tapping of keys ceases for a moment, Tristan finally looking at her. "No," he assures her gently. "Kol. The younger brother. He's likely the easiest to contain, however. That's where I'm headed." Tristan stands and circles the desk, stopping before her. He reaches out and tilts Caroline's head up with a finger underneath her chin until she has no choice but to look at him. "And I _will_ contain him. You needn't worry, pet. My promise holds. So long as I'm alive Klaus will never harm you again."

She might not trust Tristan but she knows, with complete certainty that he'll stop at nothing to see Klaus kept down. Klaus will come for him, and Tristan enjoys his position, not to mention his life. It's in her best interest, at this point, to aid Tristan.

Caroline nods, forces a light tone, "Guess I should get packing."

His hand drops to squeeze her shoulder, keeping her in place, "Do that. And don't let me down, Caroline. You've done great things for me, but I need you at your best. Things have never been more precarious, pet. If Klaus awakens he's coming for us. If I fall, you'll be at his mercy. You understand that, don't you?"

She does, very well. She retains nothing of the weeks Klaus had held her. But sometimes she dreams of pain. Vervain, wooden bullets, being burned by the sun. Poison crawling through her veins, leaving her feverish and shaking as it gnawed at her from the inside out. Tristan and Aurora hadn't held back the details of how they'd found her. Or various stories of other things Klaus had done, people he'd destroyed. And with a thousand years of acts violent, spiteful and cruel to draw on, those kinds of tales were never in short supply.

"I won't let you down," she promises.

Her dreams of freedom will just have to wait.


	3. Mouse Trap Game

**Chapter Three: Mouse Trap Game**

Klaus had often let his thoughts wander, while he'd been imprisoned. To all the things he missed, places and activities he enjoyed. He did it to keep himself focused and some of the thoughts had been completely mundane. But crowds of humans, cramped seats and horrid food, had _not_ been among them.

He and Freya are on their way to New Zealand and it's not going particularly well.

He was technically supposed to still be in that sterile room in Chicago, and as such his fortune was out of reach. He'd been reduced to petty thievery. Freya had produced a passport from somewhere, but clothing and other essentials had needed to be procured. A credit card had been liberated from a man at a bar, his diamond encrusted watch and deliberate flashing of the black card making him a logical mark. A quick compulsion ensured he'd not miss it.

That had been the easy part.

Flying commercial means layovers, and wasted time, when they've precious little of it. It set him on edge. Klaus' desire to slaughter various travelers in the Guangzhou airport was strong. The only thing holding him back was the knowledge that staying outside of Tristan's notice was their best option. Massacres tended to draw attention.

Klaus is almost glad of the distraction the ringing of Freya's burner phone provides, the staring contest he'd engaged in with a small child growing old. He assumes it's Kol, with an update on his carousing. His brother had taken the witches up to Dublin, intent on causing a scene and waiting for Tristan to find him. And then hopping to the next biggest city. Tristan wouldn't let Kol go without eyes on him, would set trusted people on his trail to report back.

The thinner Tristan's forces were spread, the better.

Kol had drained several tourists before he'd been sated. He'd raged, left an old building unstable upon finding out how long he'd once again been put down for. Klaus had allowed it, to a point. But he'd only so much patience, a clock ticking in his head. He'd snapped at Kol to focus, told him there was work to do. Didn't he want revenge, for what Tristan had done? Kol had managed to pull himself together and Klaus had been able to convey what he needed. Kol had been incredulous, "You're _asking_ me to misbehave?" he'd exclaimed with a grin. "How novel. What a terrible influence you are, Nik. Whatever would Elijah say?"

They both knew that for all Elijah's protestations of upright morality he'd understand that the end justified the means. Klaus hadn't bothered with the dig. "You just need to convince Tristan that you're not interested in politics. That you just want to live, gorge, fuck. Carouse with your witch saviours. That you want no interference, especially from me. Can you do that?"

Kol had looked insulted, "Of course I can do that. Bloody hell, Nik. It's not even a lie. I've no taste for your power plays. Making nice with people who think themselves important. Is there anything duller?"

Satisfied, Klaus had sent Kol and his little friends off, with instructions to make regular contact. He's proven wrong however, when Freya lets out an irritated groan, bringing the phone to her ear. "Lucien, you're not supposed to contact me unless it's an emergency. And please tell me you're not having one of those already. If you can't entertain a woman for longer than a few days you're nowhere near as charming as you'd like to think."

Klaus can hear Lucien's reply, and the street noise in the background, even over the airport's din, "I'd be happy to demonstrate my stamina for you later, darling. But I need to talk to Nik. There's a complication. One I'm not sure what to do about."

He reaches over and snatches the phone from Freya's grip, paying her indignant protest no mind, "Explain," he spits. 'Complication' was not a word he wanted to hear at this juncture.

Lucien sighs heavily, and from the way the sounds on his end rise and fall Klaus assumes he's moving while he talks. "I'm sure you've guessed that Tristan's plan wasn't a slap-dash sort of thing, right? It took time. And patience. He watched you. All of you. Particularly after you broke your curse and killed Mikael."

"He told me it took sixty years to make the daggers."

"Exactly. And after you went down he made it his mission to eliminate anyone who might try to aid you."

Klaus feels his impatience grow, Lucien's hedging is uncharacteristic and that makes Klaus uneasy. These were all things he knew. "Also something he indicated, during his self-congratulatory speeches, while I was held in Chicago. Make your point, Lucien."

His next words come in a rush, "There were several people in Mystic Falls that caught Tristan's interest."

Klaus clamps his jaw shut to keep from cursing, struggles not to let his hand crush the phone. Because he knows that Lucien's talking about Caroline. She's popped up in his thoughts, since his escape, and he's ruthlessly pushed her aside each time. Told himself that now was not the time to be reaching out to her, even to assure himself of her safety. Not when the stakes are so high. He wonders if that was a mistake.

Lucien continues, sounding more and more reluctant, "He had files. Pictures. Tons of information. There was a human boy that Rebekah was infatuated with – but he seemed to have no interest in anything but settling down and waiting to die. The vampire brothers are glued to the town, something about another doppelgänger, a sleeping curse? Tristan has people watching, just in case they prove useful. He thought to make the Bennett witch an ally but couldn't find her. Nor the werewolf boy. And, as far as I knew, the blonde that you were… friendly with, had escaped his notice too. She left town, after her mother died."

Klaus had known that, had been pleased for Caroline, that she was finally shaking off ties that only held her down, kept her stubbornly tied to a human life, even if he'd regretted the circumstances. And the pain he'd known she must have suffered. But something else in Lucien's words is far more pressing, "As far as you _knew_? What do you mean by that, Lucien?"

Lucien lets out a long breath. "I saw her. The day before yesterday. With Tristan and Aurora. Prodded Aurora for more information, in a roundabout way. Found out she's been with them for ten years. Works with them."

"What?" The question spills out, low and guttural. A few people shift away from him, sending suspicious glances in their direction.

Lucien hurries to elaborate. Smart man. "Aurora was being well, _Aurora_. So it was hard to get a coherent answer. Just coy smiles and cryptic remarks about ruined toys. But it sounds as if the girl's not there willingly. I think they did something to her. Tampered with her mind."

Klaus closes his eyes, knowing that they no longer pass for human, his anger winning over his control. He can feel Freya watching him, worry apparent. He takes a deep breath, forces a final question out evenly, "Where is Caroline now?"

"South America? Aurora wasn't entirely sure. Said Tristan sent her on 'another silly errand.' I can press, but she'll not take it kindly is she imagines I've taken an interest in another woman."

"No, don't," Klaus orders. "I have an idea. Just keep Aurora occupied as planned." He hangs up without a goodbye, hands Freya back her phone. Tips his head back, and breathes deeply, takes a moment to reorganize the pieces of his plan.

Freya's patience with his silence doesn't last long. She'd not have been able to hear Lucien's end of the conversation and Klaus has no doubt that his reactions alarmed her. He's holding on to his composure by the barest of threads, and only because he knows he must. "What was that about?" she demands.

He answers her with a question, uncaring if it irritates her, "Who can you send to Virginia? Someone that won't set off alarm bells. Can handle a couple of vampires with a few centuries of age."

She looks even more confused. "I'll make some calls," she says slowly, holding out her hand.

"Quickly," Klaus presses, giving back her phone. "I want someone there _immediately_."

Freya heeds, him bending her head over the screen, occasionally shooting him concerned glances. He'll have to explain at some point, though it should be easy because he's always assumed that she'd seen Caroline that time she'd drawn power from him, been inside his mind. He'd _hated_ it, still hates it, but has to admit it's been useful, a time or two.

They'll collect Rebekah. One of Freya's contacts will get a lead on the Bennett witch. She'll be useful, when it comes time to get Elijah. And then they'll track down Caroline. Klaus will fix whatever Tristan and Aurora had done to her.

And then, should Caroline want it, he'll be more than happy to share his revenge. There will be more than enough to go around.

* * *

There's a method to tackling an assignment and Caroline's honed it to perfection over the years. She's careful, methodical. Doesn't like variables, wants zero surprises when she enters a new situation.

Step one: research.

Tristan keeps records that are both extensive and obsessively detailed. He has a database of vampires, witches, werewolves. What he knows of them, weaknesses that can be exploited. She always starts there. She'd combed through Martina's file, and that of her known associates, on the flight over. And then she'd pulled the files of any vampires with strong ties to South America, just to cover her bases. Covens, too. Some are familiar. It's not the first time she's been in this part of the world.

It's far from her favorite, and she wishes she could avoid it. It always brings her back to when she'd first woken up, how confused and helpless and adrift she'd felt. Aurora and Tristan had never been more cloying than in those first few weeks in Rio. Always asking if she was hungry, concerned that she felt lasting effects of her torture. Constantly assuring her that she'd be fine, and that they cared about her, that she was _home_ and _safe_. Some of Tristan's most trusted witches had stopped by, to see if anything could be done about her memories, to check that Klaus hadn't left her with any parting gifts of the magical variety.

Each had shaken her head sadly, had offered apologies weighted with pity. There was nothing they could do, they'd said. Her mind was broken, always would be. They'd found no traces of residual magic, but had cautioned her that they couldn't truly be certain. Klaus was a master at covering his tracks, had plenty of practice.

She'd wanted to scream, felt suffocated under the constant reminders of what had happened to her. But she'd stifled the urge, and the desire to barricade herself in her room. She'd tried to be upbeat. Reminded herself that the de Martels meant well, were trying to help her. That she should be grateful, because she'd still be suffering, at Klaus' dubious mercy, if they hadn't rescued her. Caroline had repeated it, over and over again. Until she'd almost believed it.

She usually devotes more time to her prep work, gets out her highlighters and takes notes, looks for patterns and connections. But the urgency of this particular job means there's no time for that, so she'll need to rely on her memory. And she's going to have to streamline step two, cut her usual surveillance short.

 _Not_ how Caroline liked to operate but she had little choice, the possibility that her freedom, her _life_ , was in danger never far from her mind.

Getting through customs is always easier with compulsion. Caroline's out of the airport, and in a cab, in under forty minutes. She finds her hotel and unpacks. Indulges in a long hot shower, and gets to work.

Step two: be the perfect lure.

When she's done her curls are perfect, shiny and just a little wild. She's painstaking with her makeup, makes sure her eyes pop and her skin shimmers. Caroline puts on a dress that's cut high on her legs and clingy everywhere else. She throws back a shot of bourbon from the mini bar for luck.

She'll stand out, but that's what she wants.

Caroline makes her way to a club that's purported to be the hub of vampire activity in the area. She's not easing in this time. There will be no finesse. She's barging, and crossing her fingers that it doesn't get her killed.

She walks in like she belongs, shoulders thrown back, wearing haughty confidence like a weapon. Scans the crowd, trying to pick out the vampires in attendance. It's not foolproof, doing it by sight. Younger ones especially sometimes slip under her radar, more human in their mannerisms. But it quickly becomes obvious that there's more than a few of her kind in attendance. Caroline falters, stumbling slightly into a dancing couple, when she spots someone she recognizes. But not someone she'd expected to be here.

Marcel Gerard had become a ghost in the last decade, with few confirmed sightings. He'd supposedly left New Orleans accompanied by a witch, a powerful one, which explained why he'd been able to elude Tristan's reach, despite the fact that he was wanted more than almost every single one of Klaus' known associates combined.

Only Freya Mikaelson was more highly sought.

It takes a lot of willpower for Caroline to collect herself, to resist the urge to turn on her heel and run. Marcel's dangerous, and the thought of speaking to him makes her skin crawl. Fleeing would be the smart play, calling up Tristan and asking for backup. Something stops her, a flash of a thought that's reckless and stupid and kind of crazy. But she can't resist it and her brain begins whirling, a plan forming.

Maybe, just maybe, Marcel Gerard could be her ticket out.

If she could deliver him to Tristan, wouldn't that repay her debt? Couldn't she convince Tristan to let her walk away, free and clear, if she eliminated such a large threat? It'd be the biggest blow to Klaus' supporters yet, would maybe allow Tristan to relax a little. It could very well be her best shot of getting out cleanly.

It couldn't hurt to try, Caroline decides. What did she really have to lose?

* * *

"Ugh, I cannot _believe_ I have to burn that dress. It was so lovely. Well-constructed. Flattering. And do you know how much it cost? I'll never find another one, not ten years later."

Rebekah paces as she rants, wrapped in a hotel bathrobe, vigorously rubbing a towel through her hair. Klaus watches her, sprawled across a sofa, bottle of bourbon in hand. He's got plenty of experience with Rebekah's temper, knows letting her wind down on her own is the best option. She's alternated between complaining about her current situation, peppering him with questions about his plans, and spitting some very unladylike threats against Tristan's life and manhood since she'd been awakened.

Klaus is perfectly willing to let her carry most of them out.

Freya's tucked into one of the suite's bedrooms, tired from the use of her powers during their retrieval of Rebekah. The two vampires, close associates of Marcel's who'd been drafted for this particular errand, are out disposing of the remains of Rebekah's meal and should return shortly.

Joshua is a bit frightened of Rebekah, smart lad that he is. So Klaus can only hope that she's calmed by the time he returns. He'd been surprised to see the boy, even more surprised by how useful he'd been. Rebekah's prison, like his, had been situated in a populated area, the technological protections extensive.

But Josh had handled them neatly, coordinated things with Freya. They'd used a decoy body this time, Freya less certain of where to find those who Tristan paid to report on Rebekah's state. A few drops of Rebekah's blood, a few illusion spells. They wouldn't hold for more than a few weeks, but that's all the time Klaus needed.

He could be patient, but not that patient.

He's tuned out Rebekah's voice, until she throws herself down next to him and gestures impatiently for the bottle. "Honestly, Nik. Where are your manners?"

She's unfazed by the unimpressed look he tosses her way, reaches over and takes the liquor when it's not offered quickly enough for her liking, sloshing some of it onto the carpet in her haste. "I only stole the one bottle. Don't waste, Bekah," Klaus admonishes.

"Poorly planned," she snipes, taking a healthy swig. "Speaking of, where are we off to next?"

"South Africa. Depending, of course, on a few contingencies."

Rebekah nods approvingly, "For Elijah. And then?"

"And then I do believe we should head back to New Orleans. Have Kol join us. Invite all of our oldest, dearest, friends."

Bekah rolls her eyes, "Of course you cannot resist returning to the scene of the crime. Planning on making a grand spectacle of your return?"

Klaus grins, liberates the bottle, paying no mind to the dirty look Rebekah shoots him, easily dodging her attempts to snatch it back. "The people enjoy a good show. Why not give them one?"

Rebekah opens her mouth, likely to berate his dramatic tendencies. Hypocritical, but it wouldn't be the first time. Klaus gestures for her to be quiet, hearing Josh and Gia approach, bickering in low tones. Something about Josh forgetting the matches. They fall silent as they enter the room, both freezing momentarily when they notice the attention they're being paid. Gia recovers first, "I'm exhausted," she claims. "Going to head to bed."

Klaus inclines his head towards the second bedroom, "I don't sleep much. Take that room. It's not a problem for you and Joshua to share, is it?"

Gia shrugs, "Wouldn't be the first time. And we've stayed in way slummier places." She addresses her next comments to Josh, "Hog the covers again and I'll break your hands." She offers Klaus and Rebekah a faint smile, and exits the room at a quick pace.

Leaving a slightly awkward silence as Josh shifts restlessly near the door. Like he expects Klaus to bite him. Again.

"Drink, Joshua?" Klaus offers mildly. "I'm sure there's a glass around here somewhere."

Josh glances at the bottle and shakes his head, shifting once more. Klaus is surprised he's not grown out of such nervous tics. "No. Thanks. Uh, I'm just going to call Marcel, give him the news that things went alright here. See what's up on his end."

"Feel free," Klaus tells him. And it's really more of a demand, one Josh hears loud and clear.

"Ookay then," he mutters, turning slightly away and pulling out his phone. He doesn't bother to keep his voice down, aware that Klaus and Rebekah can hear him. He and Marcel chat for a few moments after the call connects, Josh relaying the details of their successful revival of Rebekah succinctly. He asks Marcel how things are where he is and Klaus straightens from his lax posture, hearing suspicion, maybe a little worry, in Marcellus' answer.

"There's a new vampire in town. Showed up out of the blue a few days ago, no connection to anyone, never been here before. Feels a little convenient, you know? Things being what they are."

Klaus is out of his seat, ripping the phone out of Joshua's hand immediately. Complications are not welcome, not at this stage. "What's his name?"

"Good to hear from you too, Klaus," Marcel replies sarcastically. "I'm fine, alive and kicking, thanks for asking." Klaus can hear music on his end, loud and upbeat. Marcel always did enjoy the nightlife.

"There will be plenty of time for pleasantries, family bonding, after we've won, and various enemies are no longer trying to kill and imprison us. We can play catch, if you'd like. Now, what's _his_ name?"

" _Her_ name. And she says it's Caroline."

Klaus pauses, goes very still upon hearing that name. It's not an uncommon one, but he's never believed in coincidence. He just _knows_. Rebekah sucks in a shocked breath, the bottle hitting the coffee table loudly as she stands. Vaguely Klaus notes Josh's head swivelling between him and Rebekah with great interest. "A tall blonde?" Klaus questions urgently, needing to be sure. "American, young, attractive?"

"All of the above," Marcel confirms. "And always dressed to kill. You know her? Is she one of yours? Or one of Tristan's?"

Klaus loathes that he doesn't know the answer to that question. "I'm not entirely certain. She was a friend, once upon a time. You need to detain her. But _do not_ hurt her," Klaus orders, the words clipped and harsh. "Do you understand?"

If Marcel finds Klaus' ferocity, or his request, odd he doesn't comment. "I can do that," he agrees easily. "Martina's got cells that will hold her just fine."

Klaus wants to refuse that, dislikes the idea of putting Caroline in a cage. But he holds back. There's much he doesn't know. He'd like to believe that Caroline wouldn't work against him, not anymore. His instincts bend that way. The last time they'd parted it had not been as adversaries.

But caution must prevail. She had opposed him before, worked to put him down. Klaus needs to remember that. Still, there was no need to be barbaric about it. Just this once he'd keep to the principle of innocent until proven guilty. "Keep her fed, see what you can find out. Gently."

"Kid gloves. Got it. I'll call you when I get something."

"Brilliant. Good-bye, Marcel."

Klaus hands Josh back the phone, cuts the boy off before he can make the glib remark he's about to. "Go to bed, Joshua," he snaps. The boy's contributions today had been valuable, he didn't deserve to have his neck snapped. And Klaus wasn't certain he could resist, in his current mood.

Josh is self-preserving enough to obey, retreating to the room he and Gia had been assigned and closing the door behind him.

Leaving Klaus alone with Rebekah, who's unlikely to be so accommodating to Klaus' wants. He can feel the weight of her stare, knows she's incredulous. Her voice has ticked up in pitch when she questions him, "Do _not_ tell me that Caroline Forbes is somehow involved in all of this, Nik."

Klaus sighs, doesn't bother to face her, "I cannot do that, sister. Because I don't know."

"How could she be? She's a nothing from nowhere. I'd have hoped she'd be done with her tendency to meddle in affairs she can't handle. But perhaps she's stupider than I assumed."

"Time will tell," Klaus grits out, forcing his face into a neutral expression before he turns.

Rebekah studies him shrewdly, "What aren't you telling me?"

"A good many things. As always."

Her teeth snap together, a hand flashing to the side. Klaus dodges the bottle she lobs at his head. "Wasteful," he scolds, after it smashes into the wall behind them.

"Don't you realize that's why we're in this mess?" she hisses, stalking towards him, her anger making her tremble. " _Your_ paranoia, _your_ need for control. Your _ridiculous_ inability to accept that not everyone's out to get you. You wouldn't _tell_ us anything, wouldn't _trust_ us. And we all lost another _ten years_ of our lives. Because of _you_."

A sharp stab of something like guilt pierces him, but he refuses to let it show.

It's a thought Klaus had often circled back to, during those endless cycles, in that cold white room. He'd done what he thought best back then. As he always has. As he'll continue to do. But it might be expedient, to consider what he could have done differently, better. Learn from the experience, so it's not repeated. He knows Rebekah makes a good point. He'll have to unbend, at least a little, if this is going to work.

But that will have to wait awhile longer. There are too many things he doesn't know just yet, and Rebekah's impulsive, liable to act without thinking. He's accepted that he needs her. Kol and Elijah too. But he's not ready for full transparency just yet. "A drop in the bucket. What's a decade to a millennium?" Klaus replies reasonably, dismissively, knowing she'll take it badly.

She shoves past him, making a noise of infuriated disgust, low curses in their mother tongue falling freely. She throws open the door to Freya's room, slams it so hard the frame cracks. He hears Freya's sleepy mumble, asking what's wrong followed by Rebekah's clipped reply, telling her everything was fine. That she needn't worry and should go back to sleep.

Klaus smiles to himself, listening to Rebekah's movements in the other room as she crawled into bed.

They were often more alike than not, he and Rebekah.

He returns to his seat, settles in for a long night. He'll listen and make sure they have no unwanted company. And wait for Marcel's next call.

* * *

When Caroline comes to she's stiff, her upper neck achy. It's a familiar sensation. She'd woken up feeling like this often after having been beaten in a training session. Tristan was ruthless, hadn't seen the point on taking it easy on her. Klaus, and those loyal to him, he'd told her, each time she'd lost, would show her no mercy. He thought it was best if she was prepared for that.

But it's been a while and she winces as she becomes more alert. She stays still, trying to work out where she is. She'd gone back to the club last night, hoping to strengthen the tentative connections she'd been making, in hopes of getting an introduction to someone on a higher rung in Martina's organization. They've been tough to crack, warier than she'd been expecting. It had raised her hackles, made her think that something major really was about to go down.

And that feeling had only made Caroline more determined to succeed.

She remembers flirting with one of the woman's underlings. He'd been a little drunk, his eyes glued to her boobs, and she's fairly certain that he wouldn't have been able to repeat a thing she was saying, even if he'd had a stake pressed to his heart. Caroline had been pleased at her progress until something behind her had caught the vampire's attention and his eyes had widened fractionally. Caroline had fallen silent but before she could turn she'd felt a solid frame at her back, big hands on her neck.

She hadn't had time to even consider fighting back before everything had gone dark.

So much for all those beatings she'd taken, the lessons she'd been meant to learn.

And it only takes a couple seconds for Caroline to realize that she's completely screwed, that the chances of this incident being innocuous are minimal. Temporarily killing someone didn't exactly say 'Welcome to the neighborhood!' She's resting face down on a thin, lumpy mattress. She's cold and damp and the room smells like earth and concrete, the slightest hint of vervain stinging her nostrils.

It was exactly what she'd expect an old vampire's creepy fancy dungeon would smell like.

A voice, deep and smooth, interrupts her growing alarm, "I know you're awake."

Her eyes squeeze shut, and she curses her luck. Caroline's never spoken to this man, but she has a sinking feeling she knows _exactly_ who he is. And she isn't just a little screwed. She is epically and irrevocably fucked. Caroline tenses, muscles locking, hands curling, ready to spring. Something scrapes against concrete, several feet behind her.

"I just want to talk," he says, sounding completely relaxed. Friendly, even.

She pushes herself up in one swift movement, faces her captor through bars soaked in vervain. She's completely unsurprised to discover her assumption correct. It's Marcel Gerard, who'd spoken, his handsome face watching her with great interest. Caroline takes a few steps forward, letting her head tip to the side. Aims for casual indifference, "If you wanted to talk you could have bought me a drink. Kidnapping doesn't really invite a girl's trust, you know? Kind of makes you seem like a perv."

He grins, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. Marcel's got his boots propped up on the bars, and he looks very comfortable. Like he's not planning on leaving anytime soon. "Ouch. And hey, maybe I would've. But you seemed a little skittish, always careful to keep half a room between us. And since we've never met, I've gotta wonder why that is. Hurt my feelings a little."

"Call it a gut instinct. Flawless perv radar."

"Maybe," he concedes, tipping his head in her direction, still completely refusing to rise to her bait. "Or maybe my reputation precedes me."

"A little full of yourself, huh?"

He doesn't react to her taunt, remains placid and curious. Shifts gears as if this is a pleasant chat, and not an interrogation. "Where are you from, Caroline?"

She sighs, sits back down on the cot. Tries not to cringe at how discolored it is. She makes a production of smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress, crossing her legs. "Maybe you should tell me your name before you ask for my life story."

He makes a disappointed noise, his face falling, "Come on, now. Don't pretend that you're stupid. We both know you're not. You know exactly who I am. And I have a fairly good idea of why you wandered down here. We went through your hotel room, saw you traveled light. And your cell phone only makes calls to one number, with a Paris area code."

"And? Is it a crime to be kind of a loner? Or to like Paris?"

He obviously doesn't buy her defense. At all. "Maybe not. But it is interesting, you poking around right now. An unfamiliar face, with strong ties to the de Martel's home turf. And at such an… unsettled time. There are whispers of a white oak tree found in Canada, you know. That an Original is feeding his way, very indiscreetly, across the UK right at this very moment. And after they've all been gone for a decade? You can't blame a man, especially a man who's got a price on his head, for being paranoid right about now."

Caroline forces a derisive reply, "And you think I have something to do with that? How would that even work? I haven't even been a vampire for twenty years yet. _You_ just snapped my neck."

Marcel shrugs, lets his feet fall and leans towards her, "Age isn't everything. I know that as well as anyone. Brains level the playing field more than most people think."

Caroline hears a heavy tread on stone, and glances towards the door. The vampire she'd been cozying up to last night strolls through the door, barely glancing her way. Which was a little bit of a blow to her ego, if she was being honest. He's got a tall glass, filled with blood, and he hands it to Marcel. Leaves without a word. Caroline tries not to look at the glass, even though her fangs ache to drop. She hadn't fed before going out last night, planning on sneaking sips from men who got handsy on the dance floor. Healing from a major injury always made her extra ravenous, her control over her needs harder to maintain.

Letting Marcel know that, showing a weakness, was out of the question.

She's shocked when he offers her the glass without demanding something in return, carefully maneuvering his hand through the bars. Caroline blinks at him for a moment, wondering if it's a trick. His smile is gentle and wry, "I'm under strict instructions to keep you fed."

"Instructions from who?" Caroline asks suspiciously, slowly getting to her feet once more.

"A guy you don't want to piss off. Maybe you've heard of him? Klaus Mikaelson."

She'd thought it likely that Klaus was the one pulling the strings, aware of where Marcel's loyalties were said to lay. She'd maintained a slim hope that she was wrong. Hearing it out loud makes it real, all of her worst nightmares confirmed and Caroline flinches back until she's pressed to the wall farthest away. Marcel looks surprised, maybe a little concerned, "Hey, it's just blood," he tells her, retrieving the glass and taking a small sip, as if to assure her it's benign. "I promise. No tricks."

She shakes her head, a dry laugh spilling out before she can stop it. "Oh, great. So your boss wants me at full strength, huh? Can't have me weak to start off with. Must be totally boring to torture someone who doesn't have the strength to resist."

Marcel looks genuinely puzzled, moves slowly, like he's afraid to startle her. He crouches, sets the blood just inside the bars once more. "It's not like that, Caroline. I know you work for Tristan. Were it up to me, I'd have killed you. Nothing personal, but we've got a war brewing and I plan on winning it. This laying low thing really isn't my style and I'm sick of running. I'm sure you understand. But Klaus said no. You want to tell me why that is?"

Caroline looks away from him, sinks to the ground, uncaring that the dampness from the wall is seeping into her dress. She brings her knees up to her chest, bites out, "I have a few ideas. None of them good."

He sighs, and stands once more. "For what it's worth I'm pretty sure that whatever you're thinking is wrong."

"I guess we'll see," Caroline replies, unable to help the thread of despair it's laced with. She buries her face in her arms, avoids Marcel's probing gaze. She wants to take back the words. And she's dying to lunge for the blood, but she can't. It's Klaus' offering, his mind game. She won't start it at a disadvantage, _owing_ him something.

Mind games were a specialty of Klaus' and he was very, very fond of them, Tristan had always said.

She refuses to look up, even after Marcel's footsteps have faded away. Merely curls herself into a tighter ball, digs her nails into the skin of her calves to distract herself from her body's wants.

Caroline might be dreading what comes next, but she'll be damned if she doesn't face it on her terms.


	4. A Slippery Slope

**Chapter Four: A Slippery Slope**

"That girl is _terrified_ of you. Was stone cold, impenetrable. Gave me _nothing_ until I mentioned your name. Then she was like a rabbit trapped in a snare. Twitchy and ready to chew off her own damn leg. What did you _do_ to her?"

Klaus clenches his teeth, stares unseeingly at the city lights below him. The sun's just set on Cape Town, and the view from the high rise they're borrowing (its owner compelled to sit quietly in a corner of the dining room and not get in their way) is beautiful. But spoiled by the conversation he's having with Marcel.

"Absolutely nothing," Klaus defends himself, barely wincing at the lie. But he thought he and Caroline had managed to overcome certain things, their hostile beginning. She'd never truly _feared_ him, even in the aftermath of his worst behavior. Had been filled with nothing but contempt, even as she'd lain dying of his bite. The idea of Caroline cowering, because of the threat of him, is not one Klaus enjoys. "But," he continues, "I believe Tristan made her think I did. Reinforced it, over the years. I mean to make him suffer for that."

"That's… twisted," Marcel proclaims, an edge of revulsion to the statement.

"Indeed. And just Tristan's style. Bring her with you when you come to New Orleans."

"She's not going to come quietly," Marcel warns. "She's refusing the blood I'm offering her but we fly out in less than three days. Not enough time to let her desiccate completely. Do you want me to vervain her or to keep snapping her neck?"

"You snapped her neck?" Klaus repeats, with just a hint of menace.

"Sure did," Marcel replies, unconcerned. "It was either that or risk her giving me the slip. Would you rather I had lost her? She woke up, no worse for wear."

Klaus breathes out heavily through his nose, gripping the railing of the balcony so tightly it gives. "We're going to need to have a chat about your loose interpretation of instructions, Marcellus."

"Sounds like a great time," Marcel drawls sarcastically. "But you didn't answer my question."

It's an easy choice, though he hates that he must make it. "Her neck, if you must." It's quick, relatively painless. Klaus is sure that Caroline would prefer it, if presented with those options. He still remembers her face, the raw burns left on it from the vervain after she'd run from Alaric, the hoarseness of her voice as she'd thanked him. "But maybe try a little of that charm you claim to have in such abundance. Coax her into trusting you."

The soft laugh Marcel lets out is disbelieving, "I don't see that happening. She doesn't strike me as the trusting type. But I'll give it a shot." Klaus' phone buzzes, a text coming through. It's Rebekah, letting him know she's on her way up with the items she'd been sent to collect.

Bonnie Bennett had been in Thailand, of all places. Rebekah had gone that way, with strict instructions, taking Marcel's vampires with her. He and Freya had gone ahead and set up a base in this city, scoped out Elijah's current resting place. It had seemed prudent, to split up for a time. He and Rebekah were less recognizable separately then they were together.

Klaus does hope his sister's minded his demands to be gentle. Bonnie Bennett was going to be most displeased to see Klaus, alive and well, as it was. No need to start their negotiations on a bad note.

"Do that," Klaus instructs Marcel. "And I'll see you in a few days."

He ends the call and re-enters the apartment, pacing as he waits for Rebekah to arrive. When she does Klaus lets out an exasperated sigh. Which Rebekah haughtily ignores. She has who he believes to be the Bennett witch slung over one shoulder, and she's pulling a sizeable trunk along behind her. Freya emerges from one of the bedrooms, surveys the scene and grows anxious. Probably objects to Rebekah's treatment of the young witch. But Klaus has no doubt that she'd have fought, applied aneurysms first, and not bothered to ask questions later, so perhaps he understands Rebekah's course of action.

"She had a guard dog," Rebekah informs Klaus, nodding back to the trunk. "Vampire. Talked incessantly." She's gentle when she sets Bonnie onto the couch, even propping a pillow under the witch's head. Klaus supposed the care was better late than never. Hopefully the witch would come to agree.

"Leverage?" Klaus questions, eyeing the trunk.

"Probably. The bed smelled of both of them."

"Get him out, then. Threaten to rip out his heart, if you must." Rebekah smiles at that, pleased and anticipatory. She begins to extricate Bonnie Bennett's vampire friend from his makeshift prison, lifting him so he's lying boneless in an armchair. "How long will those herbs you gave Bekah keep her out for?" he asks Freya.

"Six hours? Maybe longer, she's small."

"It was closer to eight, the first time. She put up a bit of a struggle when I tried to give her the second dose. I administered the third pre-emptively."

Freya shakes her head, appearing disappointed, "Rebekah..."

"It wasn't your skull splitting, was it?" Rebekah defends herself. "She can have a little blood, if necessary. Will be right as rain."

Freya sighs heavily, but says no more. She retreats to the dining room table, where her laptop and one of her grimoires rests. Bonnie lets out a soft noise, drawing Klaus' attention to her.

"She won't be out much longer," Rebekah says.

"Right," Klaus mutters, taking a seat across from Bonnie. "This will likely be unpleasant."

Sure enough, once Bonnie's eyes flutter open, and focus on him, he feels immediate pain. It intensifies, as she sits up, her eyes blazing and her hands flying out. "I'd rethink that," Rebekah sing-songs, and Bonnie's head turns. She makes a choking sound, seeing Rebekah's arm wrist deep in her dark-haired friend's chest cavity.

"D-don't," she chokes out, the feeling of her power lifting from Klaus.

Klaus rolls his head to the side, cracking his neck, shaking off the last quivers of pain, "A vampire lover?" he taunts, his amusement true. "My, my how things have changed."

The glare she sends in his direction is withering, "You are the last person who can question my life choices, Klaus. I'd say it's nice to see you but it's really not. I'd kind of hoped never to see you again, even if Junior-you has been on my ass for years."

"I think I'm offended by that," Klaus says mildly. "He's Junior Elijah, if anything. And _I_ managed to find you in days so he's quite obviously incompetent."

"How _did_ you find me?" Bonnie asks suspiciously, eyeing him with reluctant interest.

He had a bit of an advantage, had known where to look, what pressure to apply. "Damon gave you up. You've not met my older sister, Freya," Klaus says, nodding over at her. She offers a small wave, when Bonnie glances her way. The witch's face creases in confusion but Klaus has neither the time nor the desire to explain. "It's a long story. But she's something of an expert in sleeping curses. An offer of her help, my considerable resources at their disposal, and a guarantee that dear Elena will live to a ripe old age unbothered by pesky supernatural business once she wakes, was more than enough for Damon to give me your direction."

He'd also promised not to harm Bonnie, that he only needed to borrow her for a few weeks, but she didn't need to know that.

Bonnie mutters several very dire threats to Damon Salvatore, and Klaus does hope she follows through on at least a few of them. Absence did _not_ make the heart grow fonder, Klaus had found. And Damon Salvatore still made him itch to lash out, to peel just a bit of that smugness away with the liberal application of pain.

Bonnie takes a deep breath, forces herself to calm down, straightening her posture and meeting Klaus' eyes squarely. He almost admires the backbone. "What do you want, Klaus?"

It's only centuries of practice that allows him to maintain a neutral expression, to not let his satisfaction show. He'd anticipated a great deal more resistance. "Bekah, dear. Release Ms. Bennett's friend, would you?"

Rebekah pouts a bit, but does it. And Klaus watches Bonnie cringe at the squelching sound Rebekah's hand makes as it pulls back. She averts her eyes, when Rebekah begins licking the blood off her fingers with a happy hum.

And Rebekah accused _him_ of being overly theatrical. Honestly.

"Let's consider that a show of good faith, why don't we?" Klaus offers with a small smirk. Bonnie's expression shows disbelief, but she doesn't argue.

"Why am I here, Klaus?" she demands. "Again, what do you _want_? I've been dodging vampires for years, because that dick who declared himself emperor of the universe or whatever, wants me as his little pocket witch. I refuse to live my life at his beck and call. Why would you think I'd want to be at yours?"

Perhaps a rational assumption, given their history. One he quickly debunks, "As delightful as that would be, I'm afraid I don't need such a commitment. Freya's quite powerful in her own right, and there are some matters that really should be kept in the family. I'm just asking for a few weeks of your time. A couple of favors. A little assistance in retrieving my brother and putting down Tristan de Martel. And then you may be on your way, and I'll never contact you again. I'll even throw in a nice cash reward, how's that? Rebekah told me you were staying in a _hostel_. Sounds dreary."

But Bonnie resists, her eyes narrowed, "There _has_ to be a catch."

Klaus sighs, leans forward. This one had occasionally been smarter then he'd credited her. It seemed that hadn't changed. "When was the last time you spoke to Caroline?" He asks, watching her reaction with interest.

Her brows furrow, at the shifting of the subject, and her eyes drift upwards in thought. "God, it's been forever."

"Just over ten years, I'd wager."

She doesn't miss the accusation in the statement and bristles slightly, "Caroline said she wanted to forget Mystic Falls for a while. And I figured 'a while' meant something a little different to a vampire. So we gave her space. She sent me postcards for a year or so but then everything went crazy and I was always on the move. I thought they just weren't getting to me. Last one I got was from St. Petersburg. It said that the food was better than expected but that winter kind of sucked."

"And did it not occur to you, given Tristan's interest in _you_ , that Caroline might also be in danger?

Bonnie looks taken aback, "What? Why would she…" she trails off, eyes widening in understanding, the pieces clearly snapping together. "Oh, because of _you_ ," she breathes, horrified. "I didn't…"

"Didn't think," Rebekah interjects, sounding bored. "Not surprising, given your level of experience in such things. You have plenty of power but your strategies always left something to be desired. Frontal attacks are rarely the way to go."

Klaus shoots Rebekah a warning look and she falls silent obligingly. "Where is she?" Bonnie asks, standing up, growing frantic. "Is she okay? _Please_ tell me she's alive."

"She's alive," Klaus confirms, and Bonnie sags in obvious relief. "And physically she is perfectly fine. But some of her memories seem to be missing. Everything about me, my family. And I'd wager more but I can't be sure. She's in trusted hands right now, will meet up with us at our next location. You're welcome to tag along, after Elijah's been awakened."

"Tag along where?" Bonnie asks warily. Klaus pays her reluctance no mind, grins up at her, because he's certain she's agreed, even if she's not confirmed it yet.

"New Orleans. There's something symmetrical about it that appeals, don't you think?"

She rolls her eyes. "Enzo comes too. Unharmed. _Unthreatened_. He's a friend of Caroline's. He'll want to help."

Klaus glances over at the still unconscious vampire, studying the face more carefully. It _does_ look a bit familiar, perhaps he's noted it in one of the photographs sent his way from his occasional check-ups on Caroline's well-being. The fingers on the hand Klaus can see are just beginning to twitch, signs of the nerves in the vampire's spinal cord mending. He returns his attention to Bonnie, inclines his head, "I agree to your terms."

Bonnie smiles tightly, and seems to be at a loss, now that they've reached an accord. They're officially on the same side, and that has to sit strangely with her. She lets her eyes wander around the room, shifting her weight. She pauses on the human gentleman in the corner, but manages to refrain from commenting. She's obviously uncomfortable but unwilling to break the silence.

Freya, who had been quietly observing the conversation stands, smiles warmly as she approaches. "I suppose it's up to me to attempt to be civilized, isn't it?" She leans over the couch, offers her hand to "Bonnie. "Hi. Freya Mikaelson. I'm going to order some food. Do you like Thai?"

"I do," Bonnie says slowly.

"I do as well," Rebekah pipes up. She's slung her legs over the arm of a chair, and barely looks up from her bloody nails. "And we should probably feed our host," she finishes absently. "Unless, are we killing him?" she asks, looking to Klaus in question.

Klaus shakes his head no, mostly to appease the Bennett witch. Sparing one life, even that of a lech who'd been easily lured by Freya's attempt at doe eyed naivety, despite being old enough to have fathered her, was a small price to pay for a smooth partnership.

Once Elijah's up and among the living the need for secrecy lessens greatly. Kol, at last report, has made his way to London, with several of Tristan's people on his tail. Tristan himself had left Europe. Klaus is fairly certain that Tristan had set off for the white oak tree that had been rumored to have been found in rural Ontario. He'd not trust a minion with so important a duty, will likely scour forests himself. The image is amusing, because few people were less suited to the great outdoors then Tristan de Martel. He'd been born in a castle, had never had to hunt for a meal, build shelter, feed his own fires. Thought such things beneath him.

He'd probably be secretly grateful that his adventures in forestry would have to be cut short.

Their next step was a rendezvous with Lucien in Milan. He seemed to be above board, had checked in faithfully with details Aurora had spilled. They were mostly meaningless, but that was to be expected. Tristan would never trust Aurora with something crucial, something that could hurt him. Freya has assured Klaus that the spelled mark on Tristan's chest functioned both as a method of tracking him, should his cooperation not continue, as well as a way to kill him without having to get bloody or even be in the same timezone.

Expedient, if altogether less fun.

They'd secure Aurora, the perfect bait. The _only_ thing Tristan would take a risk for. Kol would join them. And then they'd fly to New Orleans, Marcel and various other allies set to flood the city. Invitations would be issued, all civilized-like, to those in Tristan's pocket. With any luck, a decent number of them would be stupid or arrogant enough to show, lessening the necessity of hunting them down.

They would fix up the house, prepare for Tristan's imminent arrival. No finer form of family bonding, in Klaus' opinion.

* * *

Caroline's learned her lesson, doesn't move a muscle when awareness trickles in. She doesn't have long until she'll need to breathe and it will become obvious that she's awake. Might as well take any advantage she can get, glean what she can from her senses.

Unfortunately, it quickly becomes obvious that no escapes will be happening at the moment. She's pretty clearly on a plane, the sounds and smells distinct. Even if she could overpower her captors (doubtful, since they mostly had her beat age wise) it's not like she was going to be able to jump out and get to freedom. Would the impact kill her? Probably not. But Caroline had no desire to make herself a bone and blood pancake. Having to heal from an injury of that magnitude would suck.

Resisting the urge to curse, to make her dissatisfaction known, Caroline sits up, and stretches her arms out in front of her shifting until her spine lets out a satisfying crack. There's a cooler next to her, its contents no mystery. She forces herself not to think about it, to push the hunger aside. Marcel's in the seat across from her, as expected. He's basically been her shadow since she first woke up in that cell. There's a woman next to him, dark haired and very beautiful. Her heart beat sounds like a human's, and Caroline would have guessed her identity even if she'd never seen her picture. She'd been young in it, still a teenager. Davina Claire's been widely credited with helping Marcel elude Tristan for so long. Tristan had never been able to get a solid lead, despite the myriad of tracking spells he'd commissioned over the years.

"Afternoon, Caroline," Marcel greets genially.

Caroline musters a glare, rolling her neck to the side. "Smart. Skipping the 'good' part."

His smile remains, no trace of regret. "Orders are orders. And mine are to get you to New Orleans in one piece."

"Lucky me," Caroline mutters, leaning over to look out the window. It's blue water, as far as the eye can see and she wonders how long she's been out.

"We're still over the Pacific," Marcel supplies. "But we should pass over Panama before long." Caroline doesn't acknowledge that he's spoken, as she generally tries to do when he speaks to her like they're friends. Marcel's remained kind and solicitous no matter how icy or hostile her responses and it's confusing. She's been looking for a hole, something she can exploit but he's given her nothing useable so far. He seems content to follow Klaus' word but Caroline can't quite figure out why. He doesn't seem to fear Klaus, and she'd caught bits of a phone conversation once. He'd joked, mocked even, in an easygoing way. It doesn't add up or fit with the image Caroline has of who Klaus Mikaelson is. He seemed the type to like his minions quiet and subservient and Marcel had been neither.

She can't help the stiffening she does at his next words. She's been working on it, but she always reacts to the name. "I just spoke to Klaus again. It seems that the whole family's up and kicking."

He's mentioned Klaus often, every time they've spoken, and he always watches her reactions carefully, tracking her flinches and clenching fists. Caroline has no doubt that he's reporting back every detail. Davina Claire lets out a scoff, not glancing up from her phone's screen, "Marcel, come on. Don't say that like it's a good thing."

Caroline can see Marcel's eyes roll upwards, and his reply is exasperated, "D, we've been through this. I know you don't like working with Klaus but…"

Davina brushes off the gentle reminder, "Blah blah blah, better the devil you know. I get it. Doesn't mean I have to _want_ him back."

"You're not a fan?" Caroline finds herself asking. "Of Klaus?"

"God no," Davina says, nose wrinkled in revulsion. "He's awful. Deserves to rot in eternal misery. I'm only helping because several of Tristan's most wanted are my friends. They'll never be safe with things like they are right now. Plus, New Orleans is home and I want to be able to go back."

Marcel makes belated introductions, "Davina Claire, meet Caroline Forbes."

Caroline smiles tightly, a habit more than anything, and notes that Marcel's discovered her last name somehow. It's not on her travel documents, and she's fairly certain that she knows his source. She feels the ball of dread that's been sitting heavily in her stomach grow a little. It probably wasn't a good sign that Klaus remembered her.

Davina looks up, her head tipping to the side as she surveys Caroline, "So how do you know Klaus?" she asks.

"I don't," Caroline tells her shortly, unwilling to get into the details. At least not until she's had to chance to feel Davina out a little. Marcel's a bust but if the witch is only on Klaus' side reluctantly, it's possible that's an angle Caroline can play.

Marcel makes a noise, a considering hum, "Now that's not strictly true. At least according to Klaus."

Caroline rolls her eyes, "Yeah, well I'm not claiming I know the guy. I might not remember him but I doubt we exchanged friendship bracelets between torture sessions. And hey, his rep suggests he's kind of a liar, doesn't it?"

Davina seems to agree, "She makes an excellent point." Caroline's answering smile is genuine, and Davina returns it tentatively. "What do you mean you don't remember?"

Caroline shrugs, "I woke up like ten years ago and everything was blank."

"That's awful," Davina commiserates, her face softening in her sympathy.

Caroline tries to play it off, "Could have been worse. I had people to help me, a place to stay." She keeps her tone light, dismissive. Caroline has no reason to trust these people (hello, is currently being held against her will!) and she's never been able to handle being pitied. She'd done her best with what had happened, persevered even in times when it had seemed pointless. She didn't need anyone feeling sorry for her.

"Tristan?" Marcel guesses, his expression speculative.

"Ugh, he gives me the creeps," Davina mutters, a delicate shudder leaving her shifting in her seat.

Caroline can't really blame her. Tristan could definitely be a little intense and off putting. She meets Marcel's gaze squarely, "And Aurora. They were there when I woke up, showed me the ropes."

"Of what?"

"Being a vampire mostly. All I knew when I woke up was that I was starving. I had no idea how to control it." Though she'd mastered the cravings quickly, and had only killed unintentionally that first time. Tristan had praised her strength, even if he'd not seen the point of her denying herself. Both the de Martels fed fairly indiscriminately, various servants tasked with cleaning up leftovers. Caroline had always just thought it a waste, preferring neatness and subtlety to all out gorging.

"And I bet you felt all sorts of grateful, right? Alone in the world with nothing but them."

Caroline looks back out of the window, keeping her face carefully blank at Marcel's too knowing statement. It's something she'd thought herself, too many times to count. She'd been so tempted to leave, but the idea that she owed the de Martels a debt had always stopped her from actually doing so. Her plan to capture Marcel, as half-baked and ill-advised as it turned out to be, is the closest she's come to _finally_ working up the courage to get out. She'd always figured that a home, even one that didn't quite fit, was better than nothing. That having people that knew her was better than being a faceless nobody in a massive crowd somewhere. It's taken a long time for her to get to a point where she wonders if that's really true. But maybe that's just a vampire thing, an instinctive avoidance of change.

Marcel's still focused on her, expectant, his question lingering between them. "Something like that," Caroline replies neutrally.

"Did you ever think that you weren't?" he asks, seeming genuinely curious.

"Alone? Not really. No one ever tried to find me."

"How do you know?" Marcel counters, far too reasonably for Caroline's tastes. He's casually poking holes in her beliefs, and he's not even putting in much effort. "How much of the last ten years have you spent somewhere Tristan sent you, with a fake passport and a mission?"

Caroline's teeth grind together, but she stays quiet. Because the answer to that question is a lot of them. She could probably sit down and do the math but her years had been filled with weeks and months away – gathering information and playing a part – interposed with brief interludes in Tristan and Aurora's company. Had someone wanted to find her it wouldn't have been easy. Had Tristan not wanted her to be found, a tiny voice whispers, he could have made it impossible for anyone who inquired to do so.

"Seems to me that a woman like you would have friends. You're smart, engaging, beautiful. I mean, you've barely said anything to me and I like you. And I saw you work your magic in that club."

"Maybe I'm just manipulative."

"Or maybe that's just all that Tristan wanted you be."

"What's your point, Marcel?" Caroline snaps, mentally berating herself for it even as the words fly out. It's the biggest crack she's allowed since he'd first said Klaus' name and she'd gone shaky and weak kneed. She expects satisfaction, a smugness at besting an opponent but Marcel remains composed.

His hands rise, a placating gesture, "Just making observations. I have no idea what happened to you. But it seems like _you_ have no idea what happened to you either. It's just awfully convenient to me that Tristan was there to pick up the pieces, play on your confusion, and mold you into the perfect little operative."

"We were friends before that," Caroline tells him. It comes out with just a hint of uncertainty, and she hates that Marcel's getting into her head. He'd been raised by Klaus, according to what she knew. The exterior might be attractive, his manner inviting, but he could very well be every bit as poisonous.

"Were there pictures?" Marcel wonders, the innocent edge not fooling Caroline in the slightest. "Old letters or emails?"

There hadn't been, but all of her belongings had been irretrievable. Caroline had been living in Dallas when Klaus had found her, he had burned her home to the ground when she'd refused to allow him entry. And neither of the siblings were particularly fond of sitting for photos – Tristan too paranoid, Aurora too obsessed with spotting imaginary flaws – so she'd never really considered their lack damning.

It irks her now because she wishes she could shoot Marcel down. She should have at least insisted on a trip to Dallas, because something like that must have made the news. She can't afford doubts right now, not with this plane eating up the miles that separate Caroline from New Orleans, from another confrontation with Klaus.

She's not too optimistic about her odds of surviving it as it is, no need to go in a mess of nerves and insecurity.

Instead of answering Marcel's last question Caroline leans forward, her eyes narrowing. "Again, I have to ask, what's your point? I've got nothing to give you. I was sent to Chile almost immediately after returning from Montreal. I know nothing of Tristan's plans because I only had like three conversations with him when I was home. And okay, fine, Klaus wants me delivered and he clearly wants the privilege of ripping out my fingernails himself, or whatever. Why the nice-y nice routine? I already know he's the bad cop so you playing the good cop makes zero sense."

"I'm not playing anything."

Caroline's derisive noise is harsh and guttural.

Marcel ignores her, "Look, your intel doesn't line up with mine. And I trust mine about a million times more than I trust yours. Whatever he's done for you, nothing's ever going to convince me that Tristan's on the up and up. He's spent years playing the politician, claiming he's doing it for the little vampire. How many did he kill, Caroline? All in the interest of staying on top."

Caroline scoffs, "What, are you going to tell me that Klaus is better? That his hands are cleaner than Tristan's?"

"No, I can't do that."

"So what's the point? Why do you keep trying with me?" Caroline slumps back in her seat, suddenly feeling very tired.

He leans forward and Caroline watches warily, but Marcel just grabs the cooler and fishes out a blood bag. He hands it to her, "Going with what I know means you and I are going to be seeing more of each other, so why not be friends?"

Caroline bites her tongue, to hold back the exclamation that wants to erupt. She'd only be repeating herself if she shouted, 'Because it doesn't make any sense!' The other vampires that occupy the plane are giving their little seat cluster a wide berth, but she's certain they're listening. It's what she would do. Marcel's already figured out how to find her cracks, how to mess with her mind. That's bad enough. Caroline refuses to show them to anyone else.

She sets the blood bag aside, even though it's her favorite, and scoots closer to the window. Marcel doesn't comment and begins a quiet conversation with Davina. She listens, because she hasn't given up, still has hope that she'll somehow manage to slip away before Marcel can bring her to Klaus. But the conversation is benign, something about catching up with a friend of theirs once they're in New Orleans. Davina's heartbeat becomes distracting, the slow steady thump of it forcing Caroline to grit her teeth and fight the effort to lunge.

Wouldn't endear her to the woman, and Marcel's ease and attempts at kindness would dissolve, should Caroline's urges get the better of her. It would kill any shot of escape, however slim the odds of her getting one are. And she can't have that.

Grudgingly, she reaches out a hand and takes the blood bag. She won't drink it all. Just a few sips.


	5. Hear Me Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus and his siblings, Caroline and her travel companions, converge on New Orleans.

**Chapter Five: Hear Me Out**

Patience has never been Klaus' strong suit. Oh, he can exercise it when absolutely necessary. But at times like this, when things are coming together nicely, a satisfactory (for him) ending in sight, it's something of a trial. He's back in the borrowed Cape Town home, its occupant officially dead (Elijah's fault and what Bonnie Bennett doesn't know…) waiting for his brother to finish showering so they can leave.

Klaus waits until he can hear Elijah muttering while he rifles through the closet in the bedroom – a sufficient quantity of suits were to be found, but not labels that he'd ordinarily be caught in – before he makes his way into the room. They can talk, while Elijah dresses. He'd been half crazed on the drive back, and Klaus isn't sure how much he'd retained. Elijah had fallen on the human as soon as they'd entered the flat, his usual preoccupation with neatness gone.

Not that Klaus blamed him. He'd been kept in a cave of all places, desiccated as Rebekah and Kol had been. The magical protections that covered the site were anchored deep in the earth. Elijah's prison had come with a contingent of witches guarding him and Klaus knew that neither the Bennett witch nor Freya were pleased about the pile of bodies they'd left behind.

But he'd given Rebekah the signal anyway, and between the two of them they'd managed to ambush the group before they'd had much time to mount a defense. They were powerful, and obviously very loyal to Tristan if they were willing to live in trailers in the middle of nowhere guarding his brother's lifeless body. No need to leave them alive, and available as a weapon in Tristan's arsenal.

Bekah had stayed behind, accompanied by Bonnie, Gia and Josh, because Freya had reluctantly mentioned that the coven had a few more members. They'd take care of them, torch what remained. Tristan would find out quickly, likely already knew. The protections on the cave had been difficult to crack even with Freya and Bonnie's combined power battering the magic that kept Elijah locked away. Klaus could only assume that Tristan would have been notified the second it fell. They had to move quickly now, and had transportation on standby. Freya was already en route to the airport, had been instructed to make contact with Lucien. It was no time for Elijah to get fussy.

So the man didn't own any cufflinks. Was that really such a tragedy?

"Tick tock, brother," Klaus calls out, making his way to the window. "We need to be leaving."

He can hear Elijah clearly, even though he remains deep inside the walk in, "Where to again, Niklaus? I am dreadfully out of the loop."

It's a benign remark but the delivery makes Elijah's displeasure (and disapproval, but Klaus is accustomed to that) at the situation abundantly clear. That he's the last of them to have been awoken, that so many plans have been set in motion without his knowledge or approval chafed. "Milan," Klaus tells him. "Perhaps we'll have time to stop and getting you something more suited to your tastes, hmm?"

Elijah ignores the joke, emerging in navy pants and buttoning a grey striped shirt, "Somehow I doubt it. I assume the lack of subtlety when I was extracted means that time is of the essence?"

They'd caused a minor cave in, had inadvertently half buried Elijah. He'd been filthy when he'd woken up, and Freya had sheepishly apologized and offered a brief explanation. "Things are well in hand," Klaus assures him but offers no further details.

Klaus watches Elijah's lips thin in the glass door's reflection. He hides a smile when Elijah sighs, sounding remarkably tired considering all the blood he'd recently ingested, "What are we after in Milan, Niklaus?"

"Bait," Klaus tells him succinctly. "And an ally, I suppose. Though I haven't entirely decided how convinced I am of that." He turns, notes Elijah's jerky movements as he knots his tie. Decides that he's likely tried Elijah's patience enough for now, "Aurora's there. With Lucien Castle. Who's evidently been colluding with Freya while we've been out of commission."

Elijah pauses, his expression growing dark. He'd never much liked Lucien, thought him a bad influence on Klaus. Silly really, since Klaus was equally guilty of pushing Lucien into unsavoury actions. They'd had such fun, once upon a time. "You cannot possibly trust him," Elijah states disbelievingly.

"Of course I don't," Klaus replies. "Do you think I've become completely stupid?"

A hint of a smile tugs at Elijah's lips, but he resumes his methodical dressing, "It has been ten years, Niklaus. And you've never been daggered. Perhaps it left you a bit muddled. Not quite up to your usual level?"

"I'm offended," Klaus deadpans, turning to leave the room. "And half-tempted to leave you sitting in the dark, just to prove a point. I'd intended to bring you up to speed on the flight over but…"

Elijah follows him, seemingly in no hurry. "No matter. I'm sure Freya will be happy to supply me with all that I've missed."

"You're probably right. She _did_ advocate waking you first."

"At least one of you has some sense," Elijah says approvingly.

Klaus brushes that away, because his and Elijah's definition of 'sense' have always diverged. "Sensible or not things are going very well. Bekah will finish up here while we go ahead to Milan. I imagine Aurora will be thrilled to see me, and won't even see her fate coming."

"Such confidence," Elijah remarks dryly. "And if she's over you? Ceased her pining? Attempts to murder you with her bare hands?"

"As obsessive as she always was? I doubt it. No, she'll welcome me with open arms and her best attempts at seduction. And it's not as if she _could_ murder me. The only reason I'm alive is Tristan's inability to get his hands on white oak. He'd have put Kol and me down first thing."

Elijah accepts that, knowing it's the truth. As much as Tristan enjoyed torturing Klaus he'd not have risked leaving him alive if he'd had another option. It's what Elijah would have done and his first protégé was very much cut from the same cloth. "We collect your wayward ex-lover. And then?"

Klaus grins, retrieves a set of keys from the table by the door. The man had owned quite the collection of cars. Might as well borrow one. "Then we go home. I imagine the house in New Orleans will need some work, but I'm sure with a little persuasion we can have it fixed right up. We're expecting guests, you know. Need to get out the good towels and such."

"Guests?" Elijah repeats and Klaus detects the faintest note of dread.

"Not to worry, Elijah. There will be plenty of company that meets your approval. Quite a number of your line survived Tristan's purge. I can write you a list of the ones who didn't if you'd like. Petrus de Bennis, for example. Can't say I'm sorry about that one. Bit surprised he didn't prostrate himself and willingly lick Tristan's boots. More backbone than I'd credited him for, I must say."

"All because he called your painting uninspired that one time? Petty, Niklaus."

"I do like a good grudge," Klaus admits cheerily.

"I'm aware," comes Elijah's arid reply. "But I must advocate ending this one with Tristan, once and for all. I'm sure you'd like for him to suffer, but we're safer if he's dead."

"Surely you can allow me a little while to enjoy that suffering?" Klaus asks. "You weren't a captive audience to his self-aggrandizing nonsense all these years."

"I'm sure that was very difficult to endure," Elijah begins, not sounding at all sympathetic. "He surprised us once, exceeded all expectations. I don't believe we should give him another opportunity."

Klaus hasn't made up his mind on that quite yet. He had so many plans, carefully crafted and finely detailed. It would be a shame if they never came to fruition. And yet, Elijah makes a good point.

Not something Klaus will ever admit.

He opens the front door, gestures for Elijah to leave. His brother doesn't budge, is watching Klaus with a raised brow, waiting for an answer. He'll not move, and Klaus would rather not _move_ him, not when things are going smoothly. There will be plenty of time for family squabbles later, once they're firmly ensconced back in New Orleans. "I'll consider it," he allows, meeting Elijah's eyes steadily.

Elijah wants to argue, press his point, but Klaus turns away. His phone rings, and he fishes it out of his pocket, smiles in relief as he brings it to his ear.

He's never been so glad to hear from Kol.

* * *

She wakes up face down and sore once again. Less confused than she had been before. With a spark of anger kindling deep in her chest. This is her fourth snapped neck, in a handful of days, by Caroline's count. The only bonus seems to be her improved surroundings each time. From a dank cell underground, to a plush cabin in a private jet. To what seems to be an actual bedroom, the bed underneath her really freaking nice.

Caroline rolls over, eyes scanning the room with interest. She notes the finely carved posts of the bed, the expensive looking art on the walls. And it seems that her captors have seen fit to leave her daylight ring, because there's sunlight streaming across the room, warming her skin pleasantly. She's also alone, for the first time in days, no Marcel in sight. She vaguely remembers him apologizing just before he'd snapped her neck again as they'd disembarked.

Smart of him, because she'd totally been looking for an opportunity to make a break for it. And, knowing her time was dwindling, she would have taken any shot, with little care for being smart or cautious.

Sitting up in the bed Caroline throws off the duvet she'd been covered with. She closes her eyes and listens carefully. She can hear movement, multiple bodies moving around, more than one conversation. Hammering and the whir of an electric sander. But it all seems distant. Below her, at least a floor or two away. Easing her feet onto the plush rug, Caroline stands. Listens again, to see if anyone's paused, or has headed in her direction having noted that she's awake.

But the noise level remains constant, doesn't draw any nearer. She eyes the door, the ten feet she would have to cross to get to it. Decides she has to _try_. Caroline makes her way across the room, as silently as possible. The door had been left ajar, and her luck holds because the hinges are well oiled, and don't make a sound when she pushes it wider.

The tiny bit of hope that had built is short lived and she wants to smack herself for getting cocky. Of course it wouldn't be that easy, when was anything, for her? Trying to leave the room has her running right into what feels like a solid wall, and Caroline stumbles back a few steps. She bites her tongue until she tastes blood, slams her fist into the invisible barrier, ignores the splitting of her knuckles. Her anger grows, fed by her frustration and uncertainty, and years and years of being kept in the dark.

It makes her reckless.

She's past reason, unable to even consider being careful or strategizing. She's shaking, heart racing, and before she can even think to stop herself, she's opening her mouth and shouting. "Klaus!"

And that gets just about everyone's attention, judging by the hush that follows, the household stilling.

It's done, and she can't take it back, even if she wanted to. Caroline decides that she might as well make it count.

"Klaus!" She bellows again.

She swipes a lamp off of a side table, catches a glimpse of herself in a mirror across the room, wild eyed and pale. She throws the lamp across the room with all of her strength. It shatters her reflection, cracking the wood frame. She's just about to go for the bed, wants to rip it into satisfyingly tiny chunks with her bare hands. But there's a voice, in the doorway, before she can, "You rang, sweetheart?" it asks, sounding more amused than angry.

She whirls, wishing she had something to throw when she sees that _he's_ just inside the barrier.

Klaus Mikaelson, in the flesh. Standing straight and relaxed, his eyes trained on her face. She knows he's going to kill her anyway, eventually. Why not attempt to draw a little blood of her own?

Her voice sticks in her throat, when she really _sees_ him, the haze of emotion clearing. But it's not just fear, that gives her pause. She doesn't know that anyone's ever looked at her quite like he is. Greedily, like he's been starved of the sight. It's not what she would have expected, no anger or sick satisfaction apparent.

Maybe he just doesn't recognize her when she's whole and strong.

Caroline lets her eyes narrow, takes her time to study him, from the scuffed black boots to the untidy dark blonde curls. She'd seen pictures, memorized his features. But he's different in person, somehow _more_. She pitches her voice purposefully mocking, "Huh. Thought you'd be taller."

The smirk brings out a dimple, the curl of his lips emphasizing just how nicely shaped they are. She'd bet all sorts of money that the pretty package fooled more than a few people into spilling secrets they'd come to regret.

He doesn't lash out, and his expression doesn't shift. "How was your journey, Caroline?" He speaks with a warmth, a familiarity, that baffles her. And he stays where he is, making no attempt to encroach on her space. It's like he's trying not to intimidate her. And that just doesn't make _any_ sense. "I regret that it had to be that way, but the circumstances required it. If you'd like, once we've settled things with Tristan and Aurora, I'll show you the city. Have you ever been to New Orleans?"

Her mouth drops open, at his audacity. Her words come out so shrill it almost makes her wince, "Seriously? You _know_ I've been here. _You_ held me here. I don't know what you're playing at but just _stop_ it, alright? Torture me, kill me, whatever. Stop looking at me like that! Don't try to play mind games."

His eyes grow dark, bleed gold. She steps back instinctively and his jaw clenches tight. He makes no move to advance on her. Any trace of amusement has dropped from his face. When he replies it's quiet and precise, anger in the flinty tone, "I did not _hold_ you here. I would _never_ force you to stay somewhere you didn't want to. I'm no stranger to villainy, love. But I'm not the one playing with your mind in this instance."

Lies. They have to be. Even if she can't see their purpose.

A guttural noise comes from her, one she doesn't recognize. Her hands reach up to her hair, tugging harshly, "Just _stop_ , okay? I can't take this. Tristan told me you'd want to finish what you started, and I'm not a moron, so I always figured it was a possibility. You'd never been beaten before, right? There's probably a reason for it. So fine, it's my time. I defied you and escaped and I've been helping keep you down ever since. Those are my sins. That's my confession."

He moves, so quickly it's a blur, and then his hands are on her face, firm but terribly gentle. Caroline goes very still, stops breathing as her muscles lock. He could crush her skull with his fingertips, tear her head from her spine with a flick of his wrist. End it all right here. But he touches her like he's afraid he'll break her, his eyes soft and searching. "You really don't remember, do you?" he breathes out, sounding almost sorrowful.

Maybe he's offended that his best work's been forgotten, the cynical side of her thinks. "What you did to me?" she snaps. "No. A mercy, according to your reputation."

His thumb feathers over her jawbone, "What about before that? Do you remember leaving Mystic Falls?"

"I ran away from Mystic Falls," she says slowly. Caroline has no idea why that matters. Why he'd care. "Since my parents hated me and wanted me dead and everything."

He shakes his head, eyes shifting back to blue. There's still anger there, but his hold on her remains soft. He almost looks like he's _sad_ for her. "No. You didn't. _They_ didn't, Caroline."

She opens her mouth to argue, but he steps back, his face smoothing into determined lines. It's an expression that promises action, "I'm going to fix this, love. You'll see."

Caroline opens her mouth, closes it again. She can't remember a time when she's been more confused. "Fix _what_?"

"Your memories," he tells her simply.

She scoffs, "Oh, like a parting gift? Can it even be considered that, since you're the one who _stole_ them in the first place?"

A muscle in his jaw ticks, shoulders going tense. "Once again, I did _not_. And I'll prove it to you."

"Let me guess, a little compulsion?"

He smiles wryly. "Not of you. _Never_ of you. If you'd like to check the mini fridge in the corner you'll find a supply of vervain. I imagine you're used to it, but it's been a few days since your last dose. I'll not compel you, and nor will my siblings. But I understand why you'd not trust that."

She glances over, and there is a small stainless steel appliance where he'd indicated.

He continues, speaking conversationally, the consummate host. "There's blood as well. B+ Water. If you'd like something fresher, or food, anything else, you only need ask. And there's a television in that cabinet. The remote in the bedside table. You have full access to our security feeds, in addition to our extensive cable package. We've been speaking to Aurora, since before you arrived. She has some interesting things to say about you. And how you came to her and her brother's attention."

Caroline blows out a frustrated breath, turns away from him. He's trying to make her trust him, making it sound like Aurora's a mutual enemy. But that's crazy, isn't it? She stalks towards the window, forces it open and leans on the sill. Breathes in deeply, to gather her thoughts. "Why are you doing this to me?" she asks him, hating that it sounds like she's pleading. She promised herself she'd never do that. Would never allow him the satisfaction of begging him for anything. And now, here she is, reduced to it, not even ten minutes into his company.

She feels him move closer but he doesn't touch her again. "Because things are not as you believe they are, Caroline."

"Then will you let me go?"

He hesitates, the pause long. Because he seems to have conditions. "When your memories are restored, when it's safe, yes. You'll be free. I promise."

He's silent for a moment, and she wonders if he has more to say. Doesn't know if she can handle it, not as muddled as she is right now. Because she kind of _believes_ him, deep in her gut. Freedom is the thing she wants most, and he's offering it. Why would he bother, if this was just revenge? Her insight into Tristan's operations is minimal, and she'd spill them with little pressure. No need for smoke and mirrors.

Klaus puts more distance between them, lingering near the door. He clears his throat. Is oddly formal, when he speaks again, "I'll take my leave, now. Please drink some blood, Caroline. Marcel says you've only taken the smallest amount in days and you don't look good."

She snorts, "Charming. Bet the ladies love you."

His laugh is soft and fond. Like he's privy to a joke she isn't. "You'd be surprised. I'll speak with you later, love. And a witch friend will be along shortly, to talk about your memories."

"No point," she tells him bleakly, eyes still focused on the street below. "I've spoken to half a dozen witches and they all told me it was impossible."

"You spoke to Tristan's witches," he corrects, the edge of anger creeping back. "And they had reason to lie."

It hits her then, what he's hinting at, trying to make her believe. She turns to look at him, crossing her arms tightly, "Tristan's the villain. That's what you're telling me."

He appears pleased at her insight, "I'm not telling you anything. I'm going to let you make up your own mind. The Caroline I knew was stubborn, slow to trust. Particularly strangers with bad reputations, which is who you believe me to be. I think that's innate, that your lack of memories doesn't change your core."

"The Caroline you knew…" she repeats slowly, watching his reactions carefully.

"Yes," he says simply, holding her gaze. And once again, she sees no trace of a lie, feels no hint of a trick. Meaningless, she tells herself, more out of habit than anything. If anyone could hide the signs of subterfuge it would be him, wouldn't it? He'd told centuries of lies, pulled cons she couldn't even begin to fathom.

He gives her one last smile, almost shy, before he nods and leaves the room.

Caroline knows that Klaus Mikaelson is not to be trusted. But she finds that she wants to call him back, questions bursting on her tongue. Did he really know her, like he'd claimed? What could he tell her about herself? His assertion, about her suspicious tendencies, sat right. It was part of what made her good at the jobs Tristan had sent her on. If he told her other things, would they feel the same?

Caroline finds herself staring at the spot he'd stood in for a very long time. She shakes herself eventually, slowly wanders over to the mini fridge. It's stocked, just like he'd promised. She braces herself for the sting of the vervain, chokes it down, soothes the damage with blood.

She drinks an entire bag, but she's still hungry, days of keeping her needs in check piling up. Caroline stares longingly at the stacks remaining in the refrigerator. Reaches out slowly, with a furtive glance behind her to check that she's still alone. She makes a split second decision and takes another. Because screw it, she couldn't think straight on an empty stomach.

* * *

It's difficult to leave Caroline's room. He sees her struggle with what she thinks she knows and what her instincts tell her. He's certain he's managed to poke holes in the lies Tristan's poisoned her mind with, that she has doubts about where her loyalties should lie. He wants to press, is half tempted to sneak into her mind and show her the truth. Show her who she really was.

But Klaus dismissed the urge immediately. He will not do that, not without Caroline's permission. Her memories should never have been tampered with in the first place and pushing his way into her mind is a violation that Caroline, once she's back to herself, could very well find unforgivable.

The Bennett witch is pacing at the bottom of the stairs as Klaus descends them, her mouthy dark haired paramour seated on one of the lowest treads. She hadn't been happy to be barred from Caroline's room, had argued strenuously that she should be there when Caroline awoke. But he'd known it was possible for Caroline to attack, as hungry as she was. Bonnie was capable of defending herself but Klaus hadn't been sure if she would, thinking she might be unwilling to hurt Caroline after such a long separation. The last thing he needed was crushing guilt and regrets from either of them.

It would set Caroline back, once her memory was restored. And Klaus would need Bonnie, her power, in the coming days.

"Well?" Bonnie demands. "How is she?"

Klaus stops, and faces them when he's on the ground floor, notes the interest on Enzo's face. He hadn't said much to Klaus, but tracks him with suspicious eyes whenever they're in the same vicinity. Being abducted and stuffed in a trunk evidently didn't make the vampire amenable to Klaus' company. "Frightened," he responds succinctly. "And trying to hide it. Angry. Confused. More so the latter after our chat, I believe." That was the good news. Klaus delivers the bad quickly. "Her memory loss is as extensive as I'd feared."

Bonnie's eyes grow wide in alarm, "How much is gone?"

"Everything, as far as I can tell. Replaced. It seems as if Tristan's put in a few kernels of truth - her name, hometown, and such. Probably pulled things from public records to corroborate them, make her more likely to believe him about the rest. She thinks that she ran away, that her parents chased her out of Mystic Falls because they hated her."

The witch's lashes drop, her harsh swallow is audible. Enzo stands, grabs her hand and squeezes. "But we'll fix it, won't we?" he says confidently. "Gorgeous will be back to her old self in no time."

Klaus isn't so sure. She's lived ten years as a different person, done things that the Caroline Forbes she'd been wouldn't have. It will be a lot for her to reconcile.

Bonnie composes herself, though her eyes remain wet. "When can I see her?"

"Soon," Klaus tells her. He'd had Freya spell the room, keyed the barrier to his blood, so only he and a select few could enter. He'd meant it, when he'd told Caroline he'd let her figure things out without interference. She'd always liked control, had been granted precious little of it lately. He can give her some in this. He's banking on her curiosity, hoping she'll go right to the feeds. Confirmation that he's telling the truth is there, plain and irrefutable. Aurora had been simple to crack, zealously certain that Klaus was desperately in love with her.

Once Caroline watches she'll know that Tristan never had her best interests at heart. She'll feel duped, adrift. Klaus thinks it best to give her something to hold on to. They'll need to gather things to counteract the poison she'd been forced to swallow and he hopes the Bennett Witch won't be entirely useless. He really has no desire to speak to either Salvatore again, even for something as simple as a demand something from Caroline's hometown. "Do you have any pictures? Things from when you lot were small?"

"I do," Bonnie says slowly. Her expression brightens with hope. "For Caroline, right? I think I can do one better."

"Oh?" Klaus asks, raising an eyebrow at her confidence. "Do tell?"

"Caroline put a ton of stuff from her house into storage after the whole humanity switch debacle. But she was paranoid about losing it, of things getting damaged or stolen or whatever. Stefan's fault. Long story. So she scanned a ton of pictures, backed them up online. I know her usernames and passwords. I can get in."

That would be helpful, Klaus can allow. He nods, instructing, "Do that," before he turns to go.

"Going to spend more time in the dungeons, mate?" Enzo asks innocently. "Flirt with the batty redhead a little more?"

Klaus pauses, takes a moment to study the much younger vampire, intrigued by the probing question Not many would have dared it. The Bennett witch is shooting Enzo an exasperated glare. He has no doubt they'd have conversations about Enzo taking care to mind his tongue. Though Klaus knows his type and doubts any lecture of that sort will ever stick. "If that's what it takes," he agrees mildly.

He'd played into Aurora's feelings, sensing it would be the most expedient way of dealing with the woman. She'd lit up when Klaus had walked into the hotel room she'd been sharing with Lucien, asked if she should ring for tea, as if she'd expected a pleasant social visit. It was a simple thing, to bend to kiss her cheek. To snap her neck, despite the fact that she had almost as many years as he and his siblings, and really should have put up more of a fight.

So deluded, even after all these years. Had he wanted her, he would have found her.

It had been more than a thousand years and his thoughts had rarely drifted back to her. Klaus was not who he'd been then. When he'd met Aurora he'd been newly turned, unsure of what he'd been capable of. More human than not, weak and untested. That version of himself would not have survived, let alone thrived. Would have been incapable of seeing to his family's safety. He'd long since been burned away and precious little of him remained.

Aurora did not seem to understand that, persisted in calling him Nik, in a saccharine coo. Perhaps because she herself had remained much the same. A pampered daughter of a Count in life she'd not been expected to be much beyond a pretty ornament. And as he understood it, she'd not had to do much in all her years of vampirism, save for that first century where she'd been running from Mikael, as a decoy Rebekah. If whatever hardships she'd endured had taught her anything the effects of the lessons had long since evaporated. Tristan took care of her, servants doted on her. She was free to do whatever she wished without consideration or consequence. It had made her soft, and convinced of her own untouchability.

Aurora was in for a very rude awakening.

"Do you have a problem with how I'm handling this situation, _mate_?" Klaus asks Enzo coldly. "Because I think you know very little of it, and should perhaps keep any grievances you might have to yourself. You're a guest here, remember that."

Enzo is impressively unflappable, even when Klaus edges closer. He stands his ground, crosses his arms. "It's all well and good for you to play the white knight now, but where were you before? Imprisoned, fine. But before that? When Caroline was trying to hold herself together, when her mother died, after? She heard not a single peep from you."

Klaus grits his teeth, fights the urge to rip off a piece of the staircase and bury it in Enzo. Mostly because if Bonnie was correct, and Enzo's protectiveness leads him to believe she was, Caroline would not take kindly to him maiming her friend to vent his anger. " _That_ is between Caroline and me. I'd thank you to remember that. And remember who you're speaking to."

Enzo waves a dismissive hand, "Big bad hybrid, scourge of Mystic Falls. Damon was most effusive with the insults. But Caroline spoke of you too, once or twice."

Klaus files that away, along with the open look of surprise that flies across Bonnie Bennett's face. "Make your point," Klaus demands. "I've things to do, as you can imagine."

Enzo shrugs, leaning against the bannister, suddenly the picture of affability. "No point, really. The batty redhead hurt Caroline, and I don't like that she's alive, and relatively cozy. I visited her little cell, you know. And I have a little experience with such things."

"Done a lot of torturing then?" Klaus asks disbelievingly. Enzo hardly seemed the type.

"Torture-ee, not torture-er," he corrects smoothly. "But I know the drill."

"She will die," Klaus promises, unsure of why he feels the need to clarify. "At the end of all this. That I can guarantee."

That seems to have been what Enzo wanted to hear. He nods, taking a step back, offering Klaus a smile that borders on friendly, maybe a little eager. "Good. Then you can officially count me in for whatever showdown you have planned. I do hope it gets bloody."

Klaus allows himself a smirk, "I think that's highly likely. But you're going to need a suit. There's a dress code."


	6. Pull Me Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caroline struggles to assimilate all the new information that's been thrown at her.

**Chapter Six: Pull Me Out**

She hadn't lasted long, after Klaus had left. She'd paced, alternately staring at the television, and the table that housed the remote, the offer, _promises_ , he'd made swirling through her brain on a loop. Eventually, she hadn't been able to resist, her thirst to just _know_ too great. Caroline had settled cross legged at the end of the bed, and turned the TV on.

Pulling up the footage had been easy. The menus were simple to navigate and the security feeds were helpfully labeled with Aurora's name, and organized into hour long chunks. She'd been able to fast forward through the first half-dozen. They only captured Aurora's still form in the frame, the utter lack of movement too complete for just sleep. It seemed like Caroline wasn't the only person who'd been brought into Klaus' home temporarily dead.

What did it mean that her cell was so much cushier than Aurora's? Caroline had a bed, natural light, amenities. Aurora was the bargaining chip, was she not? There wasn't much Tristan wouldn't do to ensure her safety.

It had been a fleeting thought, while she'd looked for something noteworthy from the videos. Finally, she'd spotted movement. Caroline had watched Aurora wake, and survey her prison. Her nose had wrinkled in distaste, and she'd sprung from the small cot making a disgusted noise. And then she'd started yelling. First for Nik, and then for Lucien. For Nik again, and again and again. There were some epitaphs for Elijah, some threats about what her brother would do when he found out she'd been mistreated and demeaned. Aurora worked herself right up, turning red faced and her voice pitching up into a painful screech.

Caroline had been forced to turn the volume _way_ down.

And she had been confused because she'd honestly always kind of thought _Nik_ was dead, and that Aurora continued to talk of him as some kind of weird coping mechanism. She was so dreamy, so besotted, every time she'd spoken the name, even though she'd claimed they hadn't spoken in centuries. How could that sort of obsession endure for a person still walking around in the world? Wouldn't Nik have come for Aurora, at some point, if he truly loved her like she said he did? Caroline assumed that he _couldn't_ be with Aurora and that he must have been long gone.

But now, Aurora seemed to expect he'd suddenly materialize, and sweep her from her prison on horseback or something. Slay those who dared harm a perfect, red hair on her head, never mind the fact that her jailer wasn't easily taken down.

Neither man she called for turned up but still Aurora kept shouting. Calling for blood, screaming about how they would _pay_ for this, diatribes about how _dare_ they put her in such a place liberally mixed in. Quickly growing bored, Caroline had continued to fast forward.

Until another person had shown up. A blonde woman, wearing killer heels and a bored expression. She had stared Aurora down through the bars of her cell. Caroline had recognized her, hadn't needed Aurora's simpering greeting to place the youngest of The Originals. Aurora had run a hand through her hair, straightened her dress before smiling sweetly, "Rebekah! So _nice_ to see you, don't you look lovely? It's ever so bold, to attempt that shade of green with your coloring."

They'd engaged in some impressive passive aggressive sniping, vicious taunts hidden under pretty words and compliments. Eventually Rebekah had walked away, leaving Aurora fuming in her cell.

She'd ripped her cot from its anchors in the stone floor in her temper, leaving the metal a gnarled heap when she was through. Caroline thought she'd come to regret that, as she doubted Aurora would be offered a replacement.

More fast forwarding was required, Aurora occupied with doing laps around the small room, muttering under her breath. It was somewhat interesting, to see her so out of sorts, her instability closer to the surface than usual. She gesticulated wildly, pulled at her own hair, dug her nails into her palms and smeared bloody handprints on the walls and bars. Aurora was capable of hiding what she could be. Most people were easily fooled by the sugar sweet exterior and unthreatening appearance.

And Caroline knew many a person had been lured to their deaths because they hadn't seen the madness that Aurora's perfect shell neatly concealed.

But there was only so much of Aurora's wild tantrums that Caroline was interested in watching. She wanted answers, and Klaus had hinted that she could find some in these videos. And he hadn't lied about their existence, or the mini fridge. Maybe there _was_ something. And even if there wasn't, if this was a trick, it's not as if she had anything better to do. Caroline kept looking.

Eventually, Klaus himself showed up. Aurora's demeanour had changed drastically, the second she'd laid eyes on him, calming instantly. She'd licked her lips and slinked to the bars, hips swaying, mouth twisted in an alluring pout, "It's about time you came, my love. Are you here to let me out?"

He'd reached a hand through the bars, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Let his fingers linger on the curve of her neck. Aurora had leaned into the touch, her eyes fluttering closed. Klaus had sounded regretful, when he'd pulled back. "I'm afraid I cannot do that. Not with your brother unaccounted for."

It was then that Caroline had been given a shock. Aurora's face had turned mullish, and she actually stomped her foot, "You cannot hurt him, Nik. The two of you need to stop this silly feud of yours. Honestly. It's been centuries. Can't we all just be friends? Family, like we were meant to be?"

And as crazy as that assertion was (seriously, where had Aurora _been_?) it wasn't the thing that left Caroline blinking in shock. It was Aurora calling him Nik. Nik, _Aurora's_ Nik, was somehow Klaus?

She'd paused the video to absorb, to consider what the new piece of information meant.

The man Aurora had always spoken of, the great love of her existence, was Klaus Mikaelson. Not dead, obviously.

Caroline had difficulty reconciling what she knew of the two. Nik had been described to her as sensitive, tortured. Gentle and kind. The Klaus of her nightmares was nothing like that. And she'd yet to make up her mind about the Klaus who'd visited her a few hours ago. He hadn't hurt her, though he'd seemed to run through a fair number of emotions. They'd been fleeting, and hard to read but Caroline had seen them. Nevertheless he'd been in control of himself, calculating. Not the kind of guy who wrote love letters and picked flowers and promised happily ever afters.

She'd turned the video back on, wanting to know more.

They'd gone back and forth about Tristan for a while. Klaus prying - trying different angles from feigned concern to subtle threats - and Aurora either hiding her knowledge of her brother's plans expertly, or being entirely clueless. Caroline would bet on the latter. Tristan loved Aurora, deeply and to a degree that had always made Caroline a smidge uncomfortable. It was a possessive and controlling love, intense and seemingly suffocating, at least from Caroline's point of view. But he was well aware of her capriciousness, the uncertainty of her shifting moods. He wouldn't trust her with his schemes.

Klaus seemed to reach the same conclusion, steering the conversation away and towards Lucien. "You cannot be mad at me," Aurora had told him coyly. "You were ever so distant and a girl must keep herself entertained. Lucien understands what you mean to me. And he's a dear, and wants me to be happy."

But Klaus seemed unconcerned, and if he was jealous Caroline didn't detect a single flicker of it. He'd drifted closer, but not near enough for Aurora to reach out and touch him, his hands clasped behind his back. "Lucien told me you'd made the acquaintance of an old friend of mine. Caroline. He said he saw her at your home in Paris."

Aurora had let out a giggle, leaned in close, and gripped the bars. "Come now, Nik. We both know she was more than your _friend_."

"Do we?"

Aurora's words had dripped with mockery, "You got a bit infatuated, didn't you? Poor thing. You must have been frightfully bored, in that little town, to be taken by such a simple trinket. She's pretty enough, I suppose. And much brighter than Tristan assumed. Proved _very_ useful. I don't blame you, my love. For taking advantage of a distraction in my absence."

"Yes, I'd gathered all of that," Klaus said dryly, keeping a careful distance from where Aurora was pressed against the bars. "I'm afraid the whys elude me, however."

Aurora shrugged, dismissive. "Tristan spotted her, recognized her, just after he defeated you. Took her, thinking she might know something that could help him track Marcel, or Freya, or any of your more dogged supporters. High pain threshold, that one. And stubborn. Impressive, really. It took ages for him to get even the littlest scream."

Caroline had fumbled for the remote, stabbed at buttons until the feed stopped, unable to hear any more at the moment. She'd swallowed hard, and felt as nauseated as she could ever remember feeling. Her eyes stung, moisture gathering.

God, she'd been so _freaking_ stupid.

Klaus was telling the truth. He'd known her, before all of this. Aurora and Tristan hadn't. They'd never been her friends. She'd been a pawn in their sick little coup all along. _They'd_ tortured her. Taken her memories. _Used_ her.

How could she have fallen for it? She'd _helped_ them, and they'd stolen everything from her. She wants to scream, or cry. Maybe punch a wall. But Caroline can't move, her muscles locked as she swallows convulsively.

She closes her eyes, tries to breathe through it. Control, she tells herself, mouthing the word but not making a sound. Get it together, Caroline. Control. You can't lose it, not now.

She repeats it, over and over again, until the words bleed together, a continuous hum in her mind.

Caroline startles at the soft knock on her door. She glances at the window, surprised to see it's gotten dark. She clears her throat, swipes at her face. She hadn't been aware of the tears falling, but her fingers come away wet. She calls, "Come in!" barely managing to keep the quaver under control.

The door opens and a woman Caroline's never seen before enters, a soft smile in place. Her eyes take in Caroline for a long moment but she's polite enough not to comment on what a wreck she must see, "Hi. I'm Freya. And this is…" Caroline looks past the elusive Mikaelson sister (Tristan had never managed to find a decent picture of her, and it had always bothered him) and she almost falls off the bed when she spies the other person in the room.

She _recognizes_ the woman. Has seen those green eyes in her dreams, sketched and destroyed the lines of that face over and over again. It's not exactly the same, a little older, a few faint lines marking years and worries that hadn't been there before. Still beautiful, and achingly familiar. And watching her nervously. "You," Caroline breathes out in wonder. "I _know_ you."

A laugh bubbles out of the woman, her face lighting up. And then she's hurrying over, flinging herself at Caroline with such force that had she been human it would have knocked her over. She's being squeezed, but she's not uncomfortable at all.

Something about this feels like home and her eyes close. She breathes deeply and returns the embrace gently.

The woman pulls back, her expression stern, "God, Caroline you scared the crap out of me! Klaus said you didn't remember!"

Caroline shakes her head, apologetic, and eases away slightly. "I don't. Not really. Actually, you should probably tell me your name if we're the kind of people who hug."

The woman's face falls, and she steps back, her hands balling at her sides. "I'm Bonnie. Bonnie Bennett. And yikes, it's really weird to introduce yourself to someone you've known since preschool." She offers Caroline a cautious smile, and Caroline finds herself returning it. Bonnie shakes herself, "Oh! Sorry. I am here for a reason. But what did you mean when you said you knew me?"

"I…" Caroline glances at Freya, who's backed off and is perched on the back of one of the armchairs. She's used to thinking that the Mikaelsons are enemies so the idea of letting something personal slip in front of one of them is daunting.

She's going to have to do it though. That conditioning had been purposeful and it's faulty. Caroline's refusal to entertain the idea that Tristan wasn't who he said he was had gotten her nowhere. She's got to start listening to her gut and her gut says that Bonnie is trustworthy.

Caroline takes a deep breath. "I have dreams. Sometimes you're in them."

Bonnie's eyes spark with interest, and she grins. "That's actually great news! Your memories can't be _gone_ then, can they? And maybe I can help. I made a slideshow. It's probably not up to your standards, but Klaus was all 'chop chop!' and menacing. It's just us, in Mystic Falls. Your parents, all of our friends from when we were kids. Do you want to see it?"

Caroline nods, throat tight. Freya steps forward with a laptop, hands it to Caroline and retreats once more. Bonnie settles next to her on the bed, reaching over and tapping keys until an image pops up. It's a blonde woman, a baby in her lap, both covered in cake and grinning.

She _knows_ even before Bonnie says anything, reaches out to touch with a shaky fingertip. "That's your mom. Liz. She was the sheriff in our town."

Caroline's next inhale is unsteady, and the picture fades into another one. A blonde toddler in a yellow dress, held aloft in a man's arms. "My dad?" She asks, just to be certain.

Bonnie nods, reaching out to take Caroline's hand. "Your parents got divorced. Your dad moved away."

Her next question comes out small, and soft, "Did they hate vampires?"

"They did. But they didn't hate you, Caroline," Bonnie rushes to assure. "You managed to prove that not all vampires were what they assumed. Turning made you better, strong. Made you realize what was important. It took me awhile to accept it, them too. But they came around."

"I want to see more," Caroline tells Bonnie, eyes trained on the screen. She watches intently, as the pictures come and go. She grows, goes through a pretty intense awkward stage, all gangly limbs and bad posture. She sees other people she recognizes, faces that had popped up in her dreams. They're _young_ in the photos. Happy and seemingly innocent in stills. Bonnie narrates quietly, offers little stories. Tyler, her first love. Elena, their other best friend. Her little brother Jeremy, their friend Matt. Damon and Stefan Salvatore, the vampires who'd kind of changed their lives. And not always for the better.

She's silent for a long time, when the last image fades away. Until the screen goes black, the laptop shutting down. Bonnie stays put, her hand warm and wrapped tightly around Caroline's. "I want them back," she blurts out, turning to face Bonnie. It's more than a simple want, it's a _need_. A hole she can't imagine never filling. "Klaus said he had a witch friend," she says slowly, remembering his vow to help her. Caroline turns to Freya, who lingers near the door, words coming fast and frantic. "You're a witch, right? Powerful? Did he mean you? Can you fix me?"

Freya's sympathetic, "I am. And I could try, if you'd like. But I don't think he meant me." She nods at Bonnie.

Caroline turns back to Bonnie, eyes widening in surprise, "Huh. You're a witch too?"

Bonnie laughs. "Well, that's a good deal less skepticism than the first time I told you. Yes, I am. And I'm assuming that Klaus meant me, even if he and I are far from friends." Her tone makes it abundantly clear that she's _not_ a Klaus fan. Maybe that was a witch thing. "Because while I hate to admit it, Klaus did kind of get you. He'd have known you'd be leery of a stranger poking around in your head. Especially now."

"Oh, I definitely am. But it really can't get any worse, can it? Worst case scenario, I lose everything, start all over. Been there, done that, doing it again really can't turn out any crappier, given what we all know, right?" She keeps getting louder, maybe a touch hysterical. Bonnie tugs her hand away from Caroline's, shaking it out. Caroline winces, not having realized she'd been squeezing, "Oops, sorry. Are you okay?"

"Fine, don't worry about it." Bonnie stands, faces Caroline. "Don't move, okay?"

Caroline nods, takes a deep breath as Bonnie's hands come up. She touches Caroline's head, her eyes going out of focus. A few moments of chanting and Caroline begins to feel pressure. Nothing unbearable, but it's not exactly comfortable or pleasant. Bonnie yelps, just as it begins to worsen, her hands dropping like they'd been burned. Freya rushes forward, "What is it?"

"A lot of magic," Bonnie says, her eyes turning stormy. "Like, layers. Fail safes. It definitely took time, more than one witch."

Caroline throws herself back on the bed with a groan rubbing her temples, "Ugh. Of course it did. Couldn't make anything easy, could they? You know, I never really _liked_ them. Tristan and Aurora. And I always felt terrible about that. Am _really_ regretting that right now."

A laugh bubbles out of Bonnie, and Caroline shoots her an annoyed glare. She claps a hand over her mouth, shaking her head. "Sorry. It's just… that was very _you_. And I've missed you."

Tears spring to Caroline's eyes once more, and she lets out a watery laugh of her own. She's spent so long feeling alone, unsure if she had a single connection out there to anybody who would even _remember_ her, let alone _miss_ her. "That's actually really nice to hear."

And then Bonnie's laugh turns strangled and she's hugging Caroline again. Caroline closes her eyes once more and breathes in, wrapping her arms around Bonnie's smaller form and committing this moment to her memory. When Bonnie pulls back she looks determined, and a little intimidating. Appearing, for all her diminutive size, like she's not someone you want to mess with. "I will _fix_ this, Caroline. I promise. Just let me do a little research. Klaus has an insane collection of books. And I'm going to ignore the fact that he probably got a hold of most of them by really sketchy means. Because I love you."

"And I'll help," Freya says, smiling kindly. "Now, Klaus will be along shortly, to let you out of this room."

Bonnie makes a disgusted face, "Yeah, I had to drink his blood to get in here. Super gross, and kind of makes me wish I could be compelled to forget about it."

Caroline's eyes narrow, trying to process what that means. She's never had another vampire's blood (that she knows of, anyway) uneasy about the intimacy of it, considering that she was typically conning the vampires she interacted with. That she'll evidently be having some of Klaus' takes her aback. "Uh, what? Can't you just poof the barrier down? I don't know if you guys know this but bloodsharing is kind of a big deal."

Freya looks apologetic, and amused, "No. I'm sorry. Not with the spell I used. Klaus was the anchor. We're going to do a similar one when… well, when it's time."

Bonnie's brows are raised high, "Um, Caroline, what did Klaus say to you? About how you guys knew each other?"

"Nothing much. Just that he didn't do what Tristan said he did. That he knew me, before all this. Why?" Caroline glances at Freya, who's studiously avoiding her eyes. Bonnie looks like she's swallowed something sour, and is shifting awkwardly on her feet. "What?" she asks slowly. "What am I missing?"

Bonnie sighs, "It's… complicated. And I'm not even entirely sure about a lot of things. But trust me, you don't need to worry about drinking Klaus' blood."

"Too late," Caroline grumbles, crossing her arms. "Yesterday I was convinced he was going to torture me to death and today I'm supposed to happily guzzle his blood? Vampires only do that during sex, FYI."

Freya coughs loudly, turning slightly pink. Caroline winces, "Right, sorry. That's your brother so probably awkward to talk about." She looks at Bonnie for help, only to find her hiding a laugh. She swings an arm around Caroline's shoulder in a comforting gesture, "Don't worry, Caroline. You'll be fine. And you'll totally understand why this is funny once I fix your memories." Her expression turns mischievous, a wicked smirk tugging at her lips. "Or, hey, ask Klaus. I'm sure he'd be thrilled to explain it to you."

The witches can't seem to hold it together after that. And Caroline's left looking back and forth between the two while they giggle at whatever joke has gone entirely over her head.

She makes a mental note to get revenge at some point.

* * *

As eager as he'd been, to return to Caroline once his sister and Bonnie had left her, Klaus had made himself wait and give her time. He longed to push now that she knew some of the truth, but he sensed he would gain little from it, that Caroline would withdraw and keep her own counsel if pressed. Klaus stayed away, gave her some time to process, and occupied himself with his plans.

Both Aurora and Lucien's cell phones had begun ringing, not long after they'd breached Elijah's stone cell. Lucien had evidently played his part well (and had managed to kill the guards Tristan had on his tail neatly and without Aurora noticing). Calls and texts had continued to flash across the screens on the flight from Europe. Klaus knew Lucien was itching to answer, dying to taunt Tristan and make him suffer with the knowledge that his grip on the power he'd claimed was slipping.

Klaus had forbidden it, wanting to be safely ensconced in New Orleans. And he wanted Tristan to think that Lucien was also a prisoner, just in case they needed a little double dealing. To that end he'd sent a photo once they'd arrived, Lucien hung by his wrists, his neck at an unnatural angle. He'd protested, of course. But Kol had been too quick.

But he'd sent nothing of Aurora yet. Let Tristan stew, question the safety of his beloved sister. When the time came he'd send Kol and Rebekah, have them collect something of Aurora's to send to Tristan. They'd bicker, but it would keep them occupied. Rebekah would advocate ripping out Aurora's hair, Kol would likely favor removing a hand. As long as they got a clear video Klaus would leave them be.

He'd instructed Elijah to have another go at Aurora, talking only – to see if her hatred of his brother, and his meddling, would cause her to speak more freely. And, even if it didn't, watching her lose her composure while Elijah remained cool and condescending would at least be amusing.

And then he'd decided to check in with Kol and Rebekah.

Until they were needed, his youngest siblings were at loose ends and Klaus was growing impatient with them. Kol had been in and out of the house since they'd arrived – claimed that he was feeling out the remaining New Orleans covens, getting an idea of which would be amenable to supporting them in overthrowing Tristan. But Klaus hadn't seen much of his younger brother and that made him nervous. He sent Rebekah out to fetch Kol, see that he'd not gotten into trouble. She was incredulous at being reduced to errand girl, and had stomped out in a huff.

Klaus hoped Kol managed to mind his tongue, once Bekah found him. They'd not made any great effort to hide their presence in the city, the whole point being to draw Tristan to them. But a messy scene, something that had to be tidied, and hidden from the humans, was not something Klaus wanted to deal with.

Finally, Klaus had left Freya in charge of the Bennett witch, after he'd stopped by the room Freya used to practice magic in. He'd demanded the particulars of how Caroline had taken the things Bonnie had imparted – all the better to tailor his own approach. The witch had been close lipped, reluctant, but Klaus had gleaned enough to know that Caroline was softening. Hesitantly, and maybe a touch unwillingly, but that was to be expected. She had no solid memories of her own, and hundreds of lies and half-truths to work through. She'd never been one for blind trust, her natural intelligence and her life's experiences teaching her caution. There was no chance that all that she's learned recently would have done anything but heighten that tendency.

Finally, having run out of things to occupy his time Klaus makes his way upstairs, pointedly ignoring the amused expression Marcel does not bother to hide as they pass one another in the foyer.

Klaus knocks, waits for Caroline's call before he enters. She's curled up on an armchair, watching the TV. She turns her attention to him immediately, and Klaus is pleased that though she seems wary he detects none of the hatred, the frustrated, _helpless_ rage that had been in her before. And her color's better, suggesting she'd at least fed. Caroline seems to struggle for something to say, her mouth opening and then snapping shut as she rethinks. Eventually she jerks her thumb towards the TV, "She's really not a fan of your brother, is she?"

Klaus smiles, chances a glance at the screen. Elijah looks as unflappable as ever, despite the fact that he's been at it for nearly an hour, asking Aurora calm, pointed questions and receiving nothing but vitriol about how he'd ruined her life, Klaus' life, and evidently the lives of a whole host of others, in return. "It's perhaps one of the few instances in which Aurora's reactions are perfectly reasonable," Klaus admits. "Spending a century compelled to believe you were another, living in fear the whole time, close calls in which you barely survived. All things Elijah caused, none very endearing."

Caroline blinks for several seconds, "That… does not sound like a fun time. And I should know, right? I guess ten years is nothing so I shouldn't complain, right?"

The joke falls flat, her tone laced with bitterness, and Klaus doesn't comment, save for a small smile. He gestures to the chair across from her, "May I?"

"It's your house."

"Ah, but it's your room. And what sort of host would I be if I took such liberties?" Klaus teases.

She rolls her eyes, but Klaus detects a hint of amusement. It's familiar, and edged in exasperation. Very much the Caroline he remembers. The one who'd often tried to hide her genuine reactions, and only show him those she believed to be acceptable. "Hate to be a broken record, but 'guest' doesn't really apply to those who've been kidnapped and held against their will."

Klaus settles into the seat, leans back and studies her. "I do intend for the unwilling portion of your stay to be as brief as possible. And, in my defense, I'm sure you can agree that the circumstances appear to be extenuating."

"Maybe," she admits grudgingly. "Still, don't expect a thank you fruit basket."

"Pedestrian. Not your style, Caroline Forbes."

She startles, at her full name, or maybe at the way Klaus had said it. With more affection, _admiration_ , than he allows almost anyone else. He'd always been fascinated by her will, the grit and drive and ability to persevere that he'd not often glimpsed in others, even those much older than Caroline. It's still there, more apparent than ever, even if she doesn't know it. Klaus lets her reaction go without comment, knowing she'll not want to explain it. Her eyes narrow, fingers tapping against the arm of her chair. "I'm still not 100% sold on your version of events. I have questions."

She wouldn't be Caroline if she didn't. "I'd expect nothing less," Klaus tells her. "Ask away, sweetheart."

"You knew me," Caroline begins, the words coming slowly. "Before I left Mystic Falls, from what Aurora said?"

"Correct. I showed up just before your final year of high school, after you'd been turned."

Her nose wrinkles slightly in distaste, "Do you make a habit of hanging out with high school girls? Because that's a little weird."

Klaus finds himself chuckling, "No. Not before, or since. Unless you count Rebekah, I suppose, but she quickly grows bored with playing at school. It was somewhat inevitable as your friend Elena was what brought me to Mystic Falls."

"Still weird," Caroline deadpans, crossing her arms.

Klaus ignores the dig, to continue his explanation. "I had to return to break my curse, and become a hybrid. Elena, several of your friends were… involved in that." Rather unwittingly, and with great reluctance, but Klaus sees no point in rehashing the finer points at the moment.

"Doesn't sound like sunshine and rainbows," Caroline says knowingly.

She'd always been perceptive, "It was not. We were on opposite sides, for a time. You were dying, the first time we really spoke. My fault, if I'm being honest."

Her head tips to the side, chin coming to rest on her palm as her eyes remain focused, measuring. If she's looking for a lie she won't find one. "And why are you? Being totally honest, I mean."

Klaus shrugs, having expected the question, "Because I meant it when I said I'd return your memories, love. Lying would gain me nothing but a few days of your good graces. Besides, your dear friend Bonnie would eagerly and gleefully debunk any falsehood I told you."

Caroline seems to accept that, her posture relaxing slightly. "Well, clearly I didn't die."

Klaus smiles, "No. You asked me to save you, and I did. You were suffering from a hybrid bite, and my blood is the cure."

"Hybrid bite," Caroline repeats, growing accusatory. "Did you…"

"Not that time. Your boyfriend, Tyler, was a hybrid. He bit you, on my orders, as a test of his loyalty."

"Tyler," Caroline says the name almost to herself, like she's testing it out. "Bonnie showed me pictures. And he's popped up in my dreams."

Klaus perks up, at that new tidbit of information. Perhaps Caroline's memories weren't as deeply buried as Tristan had intended. He rather hoped so, that they could be restored before Tristan arrived in New Orleans one final time. She deserved that, to have a chance to confront him. "Dreams?" Klaus asks, leaning forward. "What dreams?"

Her face creases in embarrassment, like she hadn't meant to mention them. "It's nothing. Just… sometimes I wake up from a dream, and it felt so real that I'm disoriented finding myself in a bed. I wondered if they were memories, and it's looking like they might have been. I knew Bonnie's face and when she showed me the pictures so many of those people, my friends I guess, were familiar too."

"Is it always faces?"

Caroline shakes her head, "No. Sometimes there's no one there. It's just a room, sharp and detailed. Smells, sometimes. Or even activities. I remember running, at full vampire speed, whipping past trees and laughing. Eating a bunny, for some dumb reason. And there's one where I'm dancing, like really fancy expert dancing, with a guy who knows what he's doing. His face is never clear."

It's a struggle not to grin at that last sentence, to show just how pleased he is with it. There's a chance she's speaking of one of her friends, perhaps Stefan. The younger Salvatore is a passable dancer, certainly better than Caroline's peers, for all that he'd hated the activity. But somehow Klaus is sure that he's not the one Caroline's remembering. "Interesting," is what he says, striving for casualness. "And curious, as you and I once attended a ball."

"A ball?" Caroline repeats skeptically.

"Yes. Thrown by my mother. A tedious attempt to exterminate her wayward children. You wore blue. And diamonds. We _danced_."

Caroline lets out a small disbelieving noise, "You think you're the guy in my memories? Ego much?"

"To spare," Klaus agrees, unashamed. A thought hits him, and he unfolds himself from his seat, pushing it and the table into the wall. "In fact, let's do a little test, shall we?"

"What kind of test?" Caroline wonders, brows high as she watches him clear furniture away.

"Dancing. The steps. It wasn't a simple waltz in your dream, I imagine. Something a little more complex. I'm wagering I know them." Klaus stops in front of her, holds out his hand. "Dance with me, Caroline."

She eyes his hand, obviously struggling with whether to take it. Her curiosity is warring with distrust, the battle plain on her features. Klaus decides to sweeten the offer. He pulls his hand away, swiftly bites into his wrist and speeds over to a glass. He lets his blood drip in, enough to let her out of the room, and offers it to her as he approaches her chair once more. "So you can flee if I step on your toes," he jokes lightly.

Caroline takes the glass delicately, careful not to touch him. She looks down at her lap as she brings it to her lips. Klaus turns away, hiding any reaction to the sight, his fists clenching momentarily. He's deeply regretting their current circumstances, would like nothing more than her fangs buried in his skin right now.

He has very fond memories of the last time he'd had the pleasure.

He waits until he hears her stand and set the glass aside, glances over to find her licking a drop from her lower lip contemplatively. She meets his eyes for a moment, her cheeks going slightly pink. Caroline clears her throat, shifting her gaze so she's no longer looking directly at him, "I've had your blood before," she says slowly. "To cure a hybrid bite, like you said."

"More than one."

Caroline's face twists, "That sounds painful. Werewolf bites are supposed to be an awful way to go."

"And hybrid venom is exponentially more so."

"Past-me had seriously questionable survival skills," Caroline muses. She holds her ground, as Klaus draws nearer, her spine straightening and chin lifting. He moves slowly, taking one of her hands and setting it on his shoulder. She doesn't pull away, merely shifts restlessly when he sets his palm on her waist.

"Not a point I can argue," Klaus replies softly. He'd often thought the same thing, mystified by Caroline's willingness to take risks for people who didn't deserve her loyalty. He takes her free hand and draws her closer, watches her face intently as he speaks, "Except to say that it wasn't death on your mind, when you asked me to bite you that last time. Nor was survival what you were after when you sank your fangs into my throat. Not with the way your thighs tightened about my hips."

Caroline's jaw drops, a gasp emerging, and Klaus grins and easily sweeps her into the dance. She's blinking rapidly, stuttering out bitten off syllables and shocked noises. Her mind's racing but still she dances, her movements unthinking, automatic, following his lead beautifully, even without the benefit of music. The steps aren't typical, like he'd said, but she knows them, and it's not until he spins her, pulling her back into his embrace that she manages a coherent sentence, "So you're saying that we… you know."

Klaus can't resist taunting her, "Not certain what you mean, sweetheart."

Her nails dig into his shoulder, and Klaus winces exaggeratedly, "Careful now. I'll heal but walking downstairs with my shirt torn to ribbons will invite all sorts of questions. My siblings are awfully nosy."

Caroline brushes that away, "Please. You've got to have a room somewhere. I'm sure you can sneak better than anyone else in this house." She flounders for a moment, and Klaus can feel her nerves in the tension of her muscles, the rigidness of her spine. "I thought you said we were enemies! And now you're implying that we…"

Klaus pauses, and Caroline stumbles into his chest. " _Were_ enemies," he stresses. "And then we were friends. And for one very long, very satisfying, afternoon we were more than that."

Caroline's forehead creases, her brows drawing together, "So sex? That's all it was? I guess I can see that. You're attractive, we're vampires..."

Klaus shakes his head, and steps to the side, Caroline's body once again flowing perfectly with his. "That's all it could have been, at that particular moment. But we're immortal, love. Things change. I had every confidence that it would be more than just a stolen moment at some point. And I was reasonably certain that whatever feelings you had for me were far more complicated than you ever would have admitted."

She's quiet, staring at a distant point over his shoulder. Her body remains slightly stiff, the distance between them more formal than it had started out as. Klaus sighs, and executes another spin, more complicated than the first. He slips behind her, rests his hands on her waist, pausing her motions. "But of course that's only speculation on my part."

Caroline swallows audibly, but doesn't reply. Nor does she attempt to pull away from him, and Klaus will count that as a small victory. "You're free to leave the room," he tells her. "Wander anywhere you wish on the grounds. I'm afraid I can't let you leave the property just yet. Tristan can't enter, but it's entirely possible he's got people lurking in the city."

Caroline nods, and inhales shakily. "This is just… kind of a lot," she says, a note of apology there.

One Klaus neither needs nor wants. "I understand, Caroline. You needn't feel guilty for a thing. Everything will sort itself out. I will ensure it."

She nods again, steps away from him, taking a few steps towards the door. She stops when Klaus speaks again, "This room remains safe for you, sweetheart. You and I can enter freely, my siblings and your friend Bonnie. That's it. And they'll not disturb you, should you decide you need some time to sort out your thoughts."

Caroline turns to look at him, an expression of guarded gratitude on her face. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, "Thanks. And, in the interest of honesty, you might have been right."

"About?" Klaus asks, mostly because he wants to hear her say it.

"You being the mystery dancer guy."

Klaus smiles at her, and walks over so he can escort her out the door, "It would be a travesty if I didn't know what I was doing, at my age, don't you think? But I'll accept the compliment, of course."

Her reply, and a tiny amused snort comes immediately, arch and dryly amused, "Geez, you really don't try to hide the ego thing, do you?"

Klaus laughs, and Caroline joins in. She doesn't startle when he rests his hand on her back, doesn't resist when he steers her in the correct direction. She listens as he explains where they're going, gives her a general layout of the house and its current occupants.

It's progress, more than he'd hoped. He's eased Caroline's fear of him and gained a tiny bit of trust, if Klaus isn't mistaken. It's all he can do, for now.

He'll have to pay a visit to Bonnie later. Impress upon her how important it was that she work quickly. Because while Klaus enjoys Caroline's company, he can't help but feel like something's missing. He'd always knows that she'd be different, when they next met. She'd settle in some ways, grow in others. And she has, but it doesn't feel authentic, with their shared experiences erased. He wants to give them back, and he'll stop at nothing to make sure that he can.


	7. Get Out of This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caroline feels out her new reality.

**Chapter Seven – Get Out of This**

Caroline stills, hearing footsteps, her mouth full and a hand in the cupboard. "Uh oh," a familiar voice rings out from behind her, a mocking sing song. The pang of guilt is automatic even if she knows it's silly. Klaus had insisted she was welcome to make herself comfortable in his home. Repeatedly. And she's accepted that he's not as advertised. A monster, definitely. But not the one from her nightmares.

Even with that knowledge swimming in her head she's existed on blood bags and sugar for days now, on the fringes of the household's activity, her anxiety just below the surface, constantly battling her instinct to flee. It's obvious, and not exactly healthy and she kind of expects judgement, concern or a gently inquiry about her mental state. But Enzo brashly plows ahead, mockery in his tone, "I know that look. Why the stress eating, Gorgeous?"

Caroline turns slowly, eyeing the dark haired vampire warily as she chews the cookie in her mouth.

Say what you would about the Mikaelsons, but they kept a seriously killer junk food stash.

Enzo reaches over her shoulder, plucking a bag of pretzels from a shelf, unbothered by her silence in his presence. Bonnie had introduced them, explained that Enzo was a friend. A newer one but someone Caroline trusted. He certainly acted familiar, with the nicknames and the playful eyebrows and the casual personal space invading.

She might have knocked him on his ass the first time he'd bounded up to her. But, in her defense, he'd surprised her. And after the last couple of days of turmoil, the whole kidnapping thing not to mention finding out that basically her whole life was a lie courtesy of a couple of psychos, could anyone blame a girl for being a little jumpy?

Klaus had let her be after their confusing conversation and dance, told her she was free to look around the house and she'd begun cautiously exploring. She hadn't been out of her room for an hour before Enzo had come up to her in a hallway, at full vamp speed. She'd reacted accordingly to a perceived threat, fangs dropping and going for his throat. He'd dodged with a laugh and she'd managed to kick him into a wall.

Hard.

Sending a painting that looked expensive crashing to the floor but Caroline had barely noticed, intent on finding a weapon.

Klaus hadn't appeared to mind the damage, the crack in the wall or the destroyed furniture, when he'd come flashing up the stairs. He'd seemed amused, biting his lip to hide a smile as he snatched the chair leg she'd been wielding from her hand, "Careful, love. I find him a bit tiresome but your witch friend seems fond. Best not anger her until she sorts out your memories."

She'd continued glaring at the unfamiliar vampire who'd been nonchalantly brushing plaster dust from his shirt, completely unconcerned about the fact that she'd been about to stake him.

Bonnie had made her way to them then, before Caroline could demand an explanation, slightly sweaty and out of breath from her sprint through the house. She'd taken in the scene, made the correct assumptions, and shot Klaus a dirty look, "Damn it, you can't just run off after casually saying something ominous about attempted murder, Klaus!"

He'd blinked down at her, an expression on his face that Caroline was pretty sure meant he was going to say something smart ass-y but Bonnie had stalked over to Enzo, pointing an accusatory finger, "And you! Did we, or did we not, go over the fact that you had to wait for me to re-introduce you to Caroline? She doesn't remember you Enzo! How would you react to some weirdo popping up out of nowhere?"

Enzo had straightened, smoothing his shirt and opening his mouth to defend himself but Bonnie had ruthlessly cut him off with a harsh poke to his chest, "Don't even try it. You'd react just as violently as Caroline did. Worse, since you're a murderous impulsive ass."

Klaus had immediately stopped hiding his glee, grinning, his hands clasped behind his back as he'd watched the scene unfold. And Caroline had found herself relaxing, and hiding a smile of her own. It was a funny sight. Enzo easily had eight inches on Bonnie and looked down at her with something like adoration as she berated him. He'd grabbed for her hand once she'd wound down, pressed a kiss to the back of it. "Apologies. Couldn't help myself."

Bonnie had quickly turned away with a disgusted noise, offering Caroline a contrite nod. "Sorry, Care. I promise he grows on you. Grew on you way before he grew on me, actually."

Klaus' head had swiveled to Enzo sharply, "Really?" he bit out. "You neglected to mention that."

Enzo had smirked, sidled slightly closer to Caroline ignoring her bristling and Klaus' murderous expression. She'd surmised he was either completely immune to social cues or had a bit of a death wish. Maybe both. "Not like that. Though she did proposition me once. I turned her down all gentleman-like."

"Oh my god. Shut up, Enzo." Bonnie had groaned, slapping a hand over her face. She'd forced a smile, and stepped towards Caroline. "Let's try this again. Caroline, this is Enzo. You were friends"

He'd held out a hand, a charming smile on his face. Caroline had found herself reaching out, letting him shake her hand.

Still a little guarded, ready to throw another punch if he moved too fast.

But he hadn't, had merely rolled his eyes and pumped her arm roughly and enthusiastically. "Be seeing you, Gorgeous," he'd told her with a wink before snagging Bonnie's arm to draw her away and jovially telling her that he'd hide all her spell books if she didn't eat a proper meal and rest a bit.

And since then he'd popped up often unbothered by Caroline's less than warm reactions to his company.

But she was probably his best option.

It's been nearly 72 hours since Caroline had first left her cushy temporary prison. Bonnie was once more locked away in Freya's study, as she often was, and Enzo was barred from that room. He had a tendency to touch things he wasn't supposed to, he'd confided, and apparently wasn't very good at not talking when Bonnie or one of the other witches was trying to concentrate. He'd been threatened quite creatively, he'd told Caroline with a shrug. He thought it best not to test them when they were under so much pressure.

The ban left him at loose ends and, since Klaus had promised to rip out a non-essential organ or three if Enzo did not cease getting in the way, he often sought out Caroline. She found she didn't mind, had managed to relax more and more each time they spoke. He didn't seem to hold it against her that she didn't remember him, unlike some people. Klaus' sister Rebekah had been particularly snide in their few encounters. Enzo didn't treat her like she was off or broken in any way. It was kind of… comforting.

The scrape of the stool Enzo pulled from the island shook Caroline from her thoughts. "Well? He prompts. "What's got you all pinched looking this time?"

He reaches for her cookies but Caroline holds them to her chest protectively, "Excuse you, eat your salt. Leave my sugar alone."

He pouts, but obligingly crunches down on a pretzel. "Fine. But let me guess, you're nervous about Bonnie digging around in your brain? Can't say I blame you."

Caroline sighs, leans against the counter. It's only one of her current preoccupations, but probably the easiest to talk about. "Kind of. I mean, I don't think she'd do anything to hurt me. But what if it gets worse instead of better and I end up a vampire vegetable?"

She expects Enzo to make a joke, but he doesn't. His reply is nonchalant, and something about his confidence warms her. "Unlikely. You'll heal. And if your memories don't come back you'll then you'll deal with that too, Gorgeous. This time Bonnie will be 'round to help you. I'll probably be dead since Mr. Original Hybrid won't take the news well, however. I suspect I'm about the most expendable person in the household, should he need to vent a little rage."

"Probably," Caroline agrees.

"Do tell him you adore me once you're back to yourself, would you? I quite like living, thank you. Not fond of the constant evil eye."

"I wish I was that sure that I would be back to myself," Caroline mutters, digging out another cookie. "Whoever that might be."

"Ah, that's because you don't remember Bonnie Bennett. Wicked powerful, willing to go to completely insane lengths to help the people she loves. You're right near the top of that list, and I know she feels guilty that she never went looking for you, never put it together that you'd be a target. She'll fix you right up, I'm sure of it."

"I hope so."

Enzo's uncharacteristically quiet for a long moment though Caroline can feel him watching her. She keeps her face smooth and serene because most of the other entries on her list of concerns are things she's not super comfortable discussing with Enzo, even if he used to be her friend. Caroline's just reaching for another cookie when he leans forward abruptly, "So, pep talk successful? Wallowing done? Gonna do something useful now?"

Caroline blinks, a touch offended, "Um, what?"

His face creases in exasperation and he eyes her pointedly, waving a hand. "This! The Ghost-Caroline skulking routine you're doing. It's odd and making me uncomfortable."

She rolls her eyes, slumping in her seat. "Oh, well if you're uncomfortable."

He makes another grab for her cookies and she smacks his hand away with a warning noise from low in her throat, not bothering to mind her strength. It's only the fact that he's a vampire, and older than her, that saves him from breaking a couple of bones. He grins, seemingly pleased by her little act of violence. "Ah, there she is. Was beginning to wonder if she'd been completely erased. Would have been a bloody shame, if you asked me. Meek and fidgety doesn't suit you in the slightest."

"Now you're just being a dick," Caroline grumbles.

Not something Enzo seems to have a problem with. "The Caroline I knew always had a plan. Would steamroll anyone who got in her way. Wouldn't be content to sit back and let the menfolk do the war waging, you get me?"

"Last I checked there are plenty of women on Team Klaus," Caroline shoots back, but it's a feeble argument. Because as obnoxious as he's being Enzo does have a point. She'd followed directions, been a good little soldier for a decade. She's capable, knows she could help. But all these faces, these strangers who look at her with varying degrees of sympathy and interest and pity make it difficult to dive right in.

She'd kind of done it with Tristan, embraced the missions he'd given her. And look how that had turned out.

She's knows it's not the same, Bonnie had answered question after question and Caroline had seen hundreds of pictures that proved that she had known Bonnie for a very long time. She's just not sure where she stands with anyone else, if she can trust the things they tell her.

And Klaus, and the way he looks at her, is a whole other can of worms.

"Are you? On Team Klaus?" Enzo asks, watching her reaction closely.

"I don't have much of a choice, do I?" Caroline tosses back blithely. She's well aware that's not what Enzo meant but Klaus is so not something that's up for discussion. "Kind of stuck here until further notice. And probably dead if he loses, so…"

Enzo snorts, "Oh come on. Don't play stupid, Gorgeous. You have plenty of choices. More than just about anyone in this house from what I've seen. It's quite the hot topic."

"What do you mean?"

"The sister, the scary one, is dying to pick your brain about what you know about what Tristan's been up to these last ten years while they were out of commission. Says you're not quite as dim as you look and you might have a helpful nugget or two somewhere. The brothers agree but his hybridness says no, you're not to be bothered. Awfully considerate of your delicate sensibilities for an evil overlord attempting to stage a comeback, no?"

Caroline finds she doesn't have a snappy comeback. She's not exactly thrilled to be called delicate but she can't deny that she's noticed a speculative quality, a certain amount of calculation when some of the Mikaelsons look at her. She gets a little of it from Marcel and Lucien too, the few times they'd been in the same room, before she'd managed to edge away.

Enzo continues, propping his feet up on the kitchen island. "Now, the question is, what are you going to do with your abundance of choices? Keep hiding? Not exactly productive, if you ask me. And the Caroline I knew did hate to be idle."

Apparently a trait that hadn't faded with her memories because she's never lacked a project in the last ten years either, having picked up things to keep herself busy in her scant downtime. Some activities she'd discarded but some she'd kept. Maybe she'd see if she could get her hands on an actual sketchbook, now that she doesn't have to hide her drawings. Klaus has people running out into the city to get supplies, surely she can find a list and make a teeny addition to it without bothering anyone?

She'll look into it, Caroline decides. Right after she finds Klaus and tells him she's all in, and that she wants to know what he has planned.

She's never going to figure out who she can trust by sitting back and avoiding everyone. Her instincts about Klaus and Bonnie and Enzo seem to be steering her right and ignoring that they'd been screaming that something was off with Tristan and Aurora had gotten her nowhere.

It's time to stop hiding and do something.

* * *

He listens to her footsteps approaching at a hesitant, plodding pace. It's maddening - so unlike Caroline that Klaus almost wants to call out for her to hurry up, to goad her into anger and hope that her temper will erase her insecurity. The Bennett witch's vampire plaything has accomplished it a time or two, goaded Caroline into forgetting to be quiet and watchful and painfully careful. Klaus knows he could do it too with nothing but a few well-chosen words.

But he restrains himself.

He's got the door to his studio open, his attention always partially on the goings on downstairs, somewhat uneasy with having so many people in residence. They might be allies but things remain precarious and shifting loyalties are always possible. He'd easily heard Caroline ask Marcel where she could find him, Klaus had mentally praised her choice.

Lucien and Kol hadn't been far from her and they'd not have offered the information as freely as Marcel had if she'd thought to ask them. Would have likely made nuisances of themselves and that might have gotten messy once Klaus got involved.

Later. Outside of Caroline's notice.

Would probably bad for morale, too. And might have set Freya to lecturing.

Luckily, Klaus had been saved the trouble. Marcel had given clear, concise directions and Caroline had thanked him softly before making her way upstairs.

At a slower clip than a human would have managed, trying Klaus' patience. It's the first time she's sought him out since her initial awakening, when her frustrated fury had left her destructive and demanding. She's been unnaturally solemn these last few days, subdued and watchful. She flits around the peripheries of rooms, speaks little and slips out away swiftly whenever more than three people gather in a space. It's impressive and most wouldn't notice if not for their heightened senses

She takes meals in her room, sometimes allowing Bonnie to join her.

But she's feeding, according to the maid who restocks the blood bags. Klaus also knows that Caroline's not touched the luggage she'd brought with her from South America, the things she'd brought from her former life, items bought with Tristan's money, since she'd watched Aurora unwittingly spill Tristan's lies on the security footage.

The reclusiveness is concerning but he cannot blame Caroline for keeping her own company, not when she's been used as a pawn so callously.

Klaus has vowed not to push, has forbidden anyone else from attempting the same. Enzo doesn't listen but Klaus allows it since he does seem to lift Caroline's spirits.

How Caroline tolerated Enzo Klaus simply did not understand.

Freya reports that Caroline's been receptive and cooperative when it comes to breaking the spells that lock her memories away, answering questions and offering information without reservation. That she'd seemed cautiously eager when informed that Bonnie and Freya almost had a solution. That Caroline hadn't even blinked when she'd been informed that it would hurt, had even managed to joke about it.

She's been slowly thawing, growing more comfortable, and Klaus had been very pleased.

And now she's seeking his company, of her own volition, an absolutely delightful development. Klaus has never believed in signs, has always been determined to make his own path through persuasion or manipulation or blood and pain if (and when) necessary. He can't, _won't_ , employ his usual methods here but Caroline's too timid footfalls are an overture, one he hadn't been certain she'd make.

Perhaps he'll have to start believing in such things, if only occasionally.

Klaus keeps his back to the door but trains his ears carefully, pretends to study the canvas in front of him. He hears the rustle of her clothes as she brings her hand up to knock, the soft tapping of her knuckles against the door frame. "Come in," he calls in response, making the words seem absent, like he hadn't been waiting for her since she'd first headed in this direction.

She swallows, harsh and audible and shifts restlessly. "Hey," she begins, hesitating before crossing the threshold. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

Klaus turns and approaches her, moving smoothly and deliberately, motioning Caroline further into the room. She goes a bit too still when he brushes past her and shuts the door but if Klaus can hear downstairs he knows some of the house's occupants can hear what's happening inside his studio. No need to supply his siblings with ammunition, give Lucien any ideas if he's not trustworthy. Klaus makes no indication that he'd noticed her unease and Caroline doesn't attempt to flee. She straightens her shoulders and makes her way to the sofa. He's about to warn her but she sits before he can, sending a plume of dust into the air and leaving her holding in a cough behind pinched lips. Klaus tries not to smile as Caroline's nose wrinkles in disgust, her hands flailing as she waves at the air, the thick layer of particles visible in the sunlight streaming through the room. "Apologies, love. I'm afraid the house isn't quite sorted and since I'm the only one who sets foot in this room it wasn't exactly a priority."

"Surprisingly magnanimous of you," she notes tartly, her eyes shifting to take in the room.

Like the rest of the house it had been thoroughly smashed and looted, canvases torn and the tables demolished, paint smeared haphazardly along the walls and spilt on the floors. The upholstery at the back of the sofa is torn, and the shelves that had once lined the room are in pieces. The worst of the debris had been swept up but not much else had been done. Klaus was waiting on a call that would give him a better idea of Tristan's current whereabouts and had decided to see if there was anything salvageable. He's not had much luck and was happy with the distraction Caroline provided.

Klaus drags the metal stool that he'd managed to bend back into a useable shape over and perches on it. "I manage good manners occasionally. Can't have my guests sleeping in squalor, can I? Whatever would the neighbours say?"

Caroline looks briefly chagrined, and doesn't seem to register his humor. Klaus continues before she can dwell on it, or think to take back her flippant, natural, comment.

"What brings you up here?"

Her eyes snap to his, her curious perusal of the room forgotten as her nerves return. Her spine straightens, chin lifting until she's meeting his eyes squarely, determination evident. "I wanted to talk to you. To let you know that I want in. I want to help with whatever you're planning."

He'd been expecting this. Her vampire friend wasn't much for subtlety or whispers. "Ah, yes. What was it Enzo called it? Team Klaus? I find I like the sound of that."

Her posture wavers slightly, and he thinks she's fighting not to scoff. "Well, I'm not about to wear a t-shirt with your face on it or anything."

"I'd never be so gauche, sweetheart. Though Elijah's horrified expression when presented with such a thing would surely be worth the expense. I'd do something a little more upscale, I think."

"Fancy blazers? Matching tattoos? Signet rings?" She's blinking up at him, the picture of innocence as she rattles off options sarcastically, a hint of a smirk curling her lips. It really is too bad that there's not a useable pencil in the entire room because he wants to capture it, will have to work from memory.

"I'll ponder it," Klaus replies lightly. "Tell me how you think you can help."

She bristles at the phrasing, the perceived slight, eyes darkening as they narrow in offense. Klaus remains silent, makes no attempt to soothe her ruffled feathers. He's genuinely not questioning her abilities, is merely unsure of just how dirty she's willing to get her hands.

There will be no compromise, no bargain that will keep the body count minimal. Caroline needs to understand that if she truly means to be an active participant.

Ten years ago Caroline had very specific ideas about what it meant to be a good vampire. She'd been heavily influenced by The Ripper's self-loathing teachings, her parent's prejudices. He's always known that she'd need time, space, to leave that worldview behind. Klaus is not sure where she stands now, and the experiences that have shaped her have been heavily manipulated. He thinks it's quite likely that Caroline isn't sure where she stands anymore either. Will helping in Tristan's demise make it harder for her to reconcile what she's already done? Klaus cannot be certain.

But ultimately, it's Caroline's decision.

"My laptop," she clips out. "I assume you have it?"

"In my office," Klaus confirms.

"Have you tried to get into it?"

"Yes."

She leans back, a flash of triumph in her gaze, "Unsuccessfully I'm guessing? Tristan's paranoia is a teeny bit intense. You could have gotten my prints while I was out but you'd need my code too."

He'd been told as much. Josh had taken a crack at it as soon as Caroline had arrived at the New Orleans compound. He'd stood restlessly, all fidgety hands and shifty eyes, while telling Klaus that Tristan's encryption software was top of the line and unless they could guess a 10 digit code in three tries the whole thing would be erased, and become be useless to them.

"3837564153," Caroline rattles off sweetly. "That's my code. It changes every mission and it was such a bitch to remember in the beginning. It's possible he's already cut off my access but he might not have. I have had to go dark once or twice before and it was too risky to call in immediately. It's only been a couple days. I could…"

"No," Klaus says instantly, harsh and firm. "There will be no double agent nonsense, Caroline. Do not even suggest it."

Few would argue with him. But Caroline has always been singular. Her face settles into lines of stubbornness as she leans forward in her seat, "But if it could help, if I could convince him to meet me somewhere…"

He bites his tongue until he tastes iron, wills away the urge to snap at her. He'll not have Caroline fearing him again, won't let his temper show. "Out of the question," he finally manages. "It's not necessary, and it's too great a risk."

Her hands ball into angry fists and her eyes hide none of her irritation, "If I log in without contacting him he'll think I've either turned on him willingly or been forced into giving you access. He'll shut me out."

"Then we'll have to pull what we can before he can manage it. I've a person or two who should be able to work something out."

She shakes her head, "It might not be enough. There's so much in those files, Klaus."

Klaus studies her, "What did you use them for, love?"

Caroline shrugs, her fingertips drumming on the arm of the sofa, "Research. I liked to be prepared. It's easier to lie to people when you're not going in blind."

As he'd suspected.

"Then we'll steal what we can from your laptop. I'm sure you can fill in all sorts of blanks from memory if need be. Lucien can likely help. He's got his own ears to the ground, you see."

She's not happy with the solution he's presented Klaus can tell. The urge to push, to try to get her way is still there. But Caroline's evidently learned to pick her battles. She shakes her head, and subsides in her seat, turning her attention back to the shambles of the room. "Fine."

We'll do it first thing tomorrow," Klaus promises.

Caroline hums softly in response, eyes riveted in the paint-splashed walls. "What was this room?" she asks curiously.

"An art studio. Mine," he tells her, watching her brows creep up. It's a conversation they've had before and he's wondering how it'll be different and how it will be the same.

Her eyes flit over him, assessing. "You don't strike me as the arty type."

He lets out a laugh, getting comfortable on the stool. "Don't I?" Klaus asks knowingly. "I hardly think you know me well enough to judge at present. Though I've no doubt that whatever fairy tales Tristan wove painted me unflatteringly. Pure evil, no sense of decency or decorum, a bastard and a brute, that sort of thing?"

"Something like that," Caroline replies.

"I'm a thousand years old, love. Plenty of time to develop a little nuance, don't you think?"

"I guess," she allows and smirks once more. "I could maybe buy you throwing the blood of your enemies onto a canvas in a fit of rage. If I'm going by Tristan's stories."

Klaus smiles, "While using bodily fluids is occasionally trendy I personally have never favored blood. It degrades, the color changes. Not so aesthetically pleasing, you understand."

"Clearly the important thing," Caroline deadpans, but there's amusement there, a tease not an accusation. "Did I know this about you? Before?"

"You did. Wandered into another studio of mine. We had quite the enlightening conversation that night. I've never had a woman throw diamonds back in my face before that night but, as they say, there's a first time for everything."

"Diamonds?" she repeats incredulously.

"A birthday gift."

"I really hate that you keep dangling these stories in front of me," Caroline mutters peevishly, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes. "Seriously, how did I manage to convince you not to kill me?"

Klaus looks away, swallows back a laugh she'll not appreciate. "Surprisingly easily, all things considered. But you'll remember the hows and whys in time."

She huffs and Klaus curses the knock at the door that interrupts what she'd been about to say. She'd been relaxing, not weighing every word and response. It had been refreshing and Klaus has no desire to cut their conversation short.

But duty called.

Marcel at least has the grace to look apologetic as he opens the door. He smiles at Caroline, the picture of affability, before turning his attention to Klaus. "Elijah's taking that call you've been waiting for. Thought you might like to know."

Caroline's eyes flash in annoyance, shifting back and forth between them, "Can all the cryptic stuff stop now? It's super annoying."

Marcel grins, clearly amused and interested in Klaus' reaction, his eyes eager and completely unsubtle.

"As you wish, sweetheart," he tells her with a nod. Klaus pushes himself to his feet and addresses Marcel. "Caroline has decided to take a more pro-active role in what we're doing. And I do believe she's more than entitled since she had just as many years stolen as I did. Would you be willing to bring her up to speed?"

Marcel agrees easily, rocking back on his feet, "Sure. If the lady doesn't mind. I don't think she likes me much."

A disbelieving noise comes from Caroline. "You kidnapped me!" she exclaims, rising as well. "Told me you'd have been totally cool with killing me too. So not endearing, for future reference."

Klaus lifts an eyebrow in Marcel's direction, not pleased to be hearing that. But Marcel's paying him no mind, focused on Caroline. "But that was before I really knew you," he tells her playfully, in a smooth and intent way that Klaus is certain has endeared Marcel to a woman or two in his centuries.

It's grating and they will definitely be speaking later.

Caroline is not the least bit charmed, drawing herself up to her full height and glaring as she spits out a reply, "Oh, please. Do I look like an idiot? You're gonna have to try harder if you want me to forget the repeated neck snappings."

Wisely, Marcel doesn't point out that those hadn't technically been Klaus' idea, likely sensing it would go over badly. Klaus leaves the room, listening to Caroline and Marcel continuing to verbally spar as they trail him.

Caroline's not going to be letting Marcel forget her imprisonment anytime soon. She's definitely a woman who keeps a grudge.

Caroline can more than hold her own, Klaus knows. He glances back, catches her gesticulating, eyes bright and livelier than she's been in days. She'd always liked a good battle of wits, enjoyed besting opponents in an argument and getting the last word. And as she tosses out pointed words and sharp barbs Caroline seems far more like her old self – confident and secure – than she has since arriving in New Orleans.

Klaus trusts Marcel, as much as he trusts anybody, and he wouldn't mind if Caroline managed to come to do the same. A friend, another connection to New Orleans, to Klaus, couldn't hurt once Tristan's dealt with and Caroline's free.

The more reasons she has to return the better.


	8. Supposed To Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caroline begins to actively participate and Bonnie's made a breakthrough.

**Chapter 8: Supposed To Know**

"Okay," Caroline breathes, hands reaching out. She wills them to be steady. "I'm ready. Are you ready?"

Josh's, "I was born ready," comes out deeper, and with a certain action hero-esque inflection that has Caroline fighting a smile, nerves abating slightly. Gia lets out a pained groan from beside her, and Caroline thinks the other woman _might_ have reached out and smacked Josh had her hands been free.

But nope, she was on cord duty, as Josh had dubbed it. Tasked with handing things Josh's way when he asked for them. Gia, Caroline could tell, was less than enthused about her role, jaw tight and eyes flashing in annoyance.

And Josh was totally milking it. Caroline finds it pretty entertaining.

She'd reported to Klaus' study bright and early as agreed and had been surprised, and maybe a little relieved, to find him not in it. To say that her feelings about Klaus were mixed was an understatement. And it only got worse the more time they spent together. Caroline had tossed and turned all night, trying to fit the new pieces of him into place, make them work with what she knew, what her instincts were telling her.

It was proving difficult.

She woke up dreading the new curveballs she'd assumed Klaus would be throw her, more thing to keep her up at night. But there had been no need. She'd poked her head into the room, blandly polite smile pasted on, but it had been wasted, Klaus nowhere to be found. Instead Marcel had been there, waving her in and making introductions. They hadn't been totally necessary but she could grudgingly appreciate the attempt at politeness. She'd recognized the two vampires who'd also been in the room. Both from her wanderings around the New Orleans compound the last few days and from before. They'd both had files, been marked as close allies of Marcel's. Josh had been a prime target of Tristan's and more elusive than anyone would have expected given his newness to life as a vampire. There'd only been a single grainy photo of Gia, at Elijah's side, and little information about her.

Once pleasantries had been exchanged it had become clear that Caroline had never met either of them before in her life. She'd relaxed quickly, found herself making conversation without any reluctance. It was much easier to be around people who had no expectations of her. Plus, they'd both been all the way on the other side of the world when she'd first met Marcel in Chile, had no knowledge or part in her transport to New Orleans, so no grudges were necessary. It was basically a fresh start. Easy, and Caroline didn't have to sort through any anger or resentment or confusion, could just _be_.

 _Doing_ something felt good too. It felt like control, like she was finally cutting the strings Tristan had tried to trap her with, and Caroline liked it.

And Josh was ridiculously likable, chatty and irreverent. He'd shaken her hand and the first thing he'd said had been, "So, amnesia? That kind of blows, huh?"

No one else had been so blunt. She'd found it refreshing.

Marcel had favored Josh with a quelling look and he'd hurriedly moved on. But Caroline hadn't minded. It was nice that he didn't feel the need to tiptoe. Josh had asked her a few questions about her laptop's specs, laid out a plan for how they were going to pull as much off of it as they could, as fast as they could, just in case Tristan was going to cut them off.

"Anything else you want me to try to save?" he'd asked. "You know, in addition to the scary vampire Big Brother stuff."

She'd been unable to help the derisive snort, "Um, no. Tristan likes to reward his employees. Keep 'em loyal and show his benevolence. The first gift for a job well done that was something I'd been ogling online I dismissed. The second made me suspicious and the third time it happened made me extra cautious. No man is _that_ good at picking out presents. There's nothing personal on that laptop. He'd have found a way to use it."

Josh had winced, sympathy in the gesture, "That's gross. Sorry."

Caroline had shrugged. It was something she'd long since resigned herself to. Told herself it was part of the price she paid for her safety. Her torture free existence. That it wouldn't be forever, just until the threat Klaus presented was eliminated for good. She'd gotten used to ferreting out the nearest internet café, or charming people into letting her borrow their phones or tablets when there was something she wanted to look up and keep for herself. Mostly leisure activities. Books she wanted to read, clubs she could disappear into for a night of dancing with no agenda. The odd afternoon off at the movies, a quick, stolen tour through a museum. She'd spoken dismissively, not wanting any pity. "I can access my online shopping carts anywhere. And my iTunes library is all in the cloud. I'll pick myself up another one later on. Once this whole house arrest thing is done."

She couldn't even remember the last time she'd picked an item out for _herself_. Not for a mission, or something she was told she needed. But just something she wanted.

It was an incredibly depressing realization.

Josh hadn't seemed to notice the slight dip in her mood. "Ugh, tell me about it," he had groaned. "Ten years I couldn't set foot here without risking torture and death and now I'm _finally_ back and I'm stuck in this stupid house."

He'd frozen, stilled like a deer in the headlights, listened carefully. Shaken himself, at Caroline's questioning look. "Oops, habit. Back in the day Klaus liked to dangle the consequences of failing to jump to complete his requests. Super menacingly. Usually with very creative threats to my life and physical well-being. I'm not really used to him _not_ doing that."

At least _that_ fit into what she knew of Klaus. "So you're not really gung ho about being on Team Klaus?" she'd asked. "Like Davina?"

He'd let out a dry laugh, "Um, no. I am here because it's my best option. I'm going free agent as soon as this mess is done."

"That's my plan too," Caroline had agreed, liking the sound of it immensely. "Hopefully my brain gets unscrambled too."

"I'm rooting for you," Josh had told her seriously. "I'll even take you down to my favorite computer place. Hook you up with all the best privacy software. If it's still there, of course."

She'd believed him. Thought she might take him up on the offer. It's not like she was drowning in friends these days.

"Thanks. It could have been worse. Since I wasn't supposed to know him I was at least spared the protection detail reporting my every move. Could get away and do something normal once in occasionally. Aurora had four guards on her at all times. Kind of makes sense that she's a little unbalanced."

"Talk about Big Brother Tristan." Josh had appeared vaguely disgusted, nose wrinkled and lips twisted. "Maybe it's weird but I have to say I'm really glad I don't have any brothers and sisters who got turned with me," Josh continued, fussing with his own laptop. "Old vampires get kinda creepy about familial bonds. Totally awkward to witness, so experiencing it must be a treat."

She'd cracked a smile, but refrained from commenting, even if she did kind of agree. Josh's eyes had turned furtive and he'd leaned closer, voice dropping, "There's a bet going. And you can finish it. Win me some money. To the best of your knowledge were Aurora and Tristan…" he'd trailed off, made a whistling noise. Between that, and his waggling eyebrows Caroline easily got what he was asking.

She'd snuck a peek at Marcel, found him looking more resigned than anything. Clearly used to Josh. Caroline wondered if he had any money in the pot. "More than familial? Not that I know of. But I only knew them for a decade, and I wasn't around _all_ the time. I would lean towards no. Neither were exactly celibate from what I did see. Though the overnight guests Aurora didn't kill herself usually ended up dead by some other means, so…"

Looking thoughtful, Josh had shaken his head. "Could be a lover's jealous rage, could be old timey brotherly control freakiness. Gonna need more proof. These lovers of Tristan's. Teeny redheads with crazy eyes or no?"

That had shaken a laugh out of her. "Nope, sorry. Mostly brunettes. Actually, the men that I saw usually resembled Elijah, now that I think about it. And the women had kind of the same vibe. Cool and classy. Chanel and pearls, you know? Like a spec of dirt wouldn't dare to cling to their pristineness."

Josh's eyes had widened as she'd spoken, and he'd scooted closer appearing gleeful, "No, but tell me more!" He shot a sly glance in Gia's direction, jabbed his thumb her way. "Tell Gia too. She…"

"Shut _up_ , Josh," Gia had clipped, stare lethal.

Confirming to Caroline that there was something to Tristan's assumptions about her relationship with the eldest Mikaelson brother.

Josh hadn't been cowed. "Oh, come on. Tristan might be evil and slimy but you can't deny he's pretty to look at. Details, Caroline. Pretty please?"

She'd been about to confide, drawn in by his eagerness, but Marcel had spoiled their fun. Caroline had found herself disappointed. It had been a long time since she'd indulged in something as light and trivial as gossip. Every tidbit she'd ever dropped on a mission had been purposeful, a mini bomb meant to lead to a bigger explosion. She'd occasionally nodded and smiled when Aurora told tales of people Caroline only vaguely knew. But she really hadn't had the opportunity otherwise. It was almost… fun.

"Focus, please," Marcel had drawled. He'd kept his distance since Josh had started speaking, had settled on a chair out of the way. But Caroline had been aware of his presence. Known that he was listening, cataloguing. Probably reporting back to Klaus later.

Another reason not to like Marcel. And another bullet point in Caroline's mental list of reasons to be wary of Klaus even if he wasn't who she'd always thought he was.

He might not be her enemy but he was still a _thousand_ years old. Had done awful things to survive. To gain power. Things that had made Tristan hate him, and others too since Tristan hadn't acted single handedly. Things he wouldn't deny or feel ashamed of, Caroline would guess.

Did she blame him, knowing what she'd spent the past decade helping to do? Would she, with her memories restored? He'd told her (and Bonnie had confirmed) that their past wasn't neat and tidy. Caroline couldn't be entirely sure how she would feel until she knew everything.

Josh had sobered, proceeded to tell Caroline what the plan was. He'd displayed a great deal of technological knowledge, something Tristan had known nothing about. Caroline assumed it was a big part of the reason Josh had been able to stay undetected for so long.

And then they'd gotten to work.

Or really, Josh had. Caroline's part had been over with quickly, only her fingerprint and her passcode had been required once she'd answered all of Josh's questions. She'd slipped out of her seat, letting Josh take it over, and proceeded to pace behind him, feeling tense and nervous, darting glances at the screen, even if Josh seemed calm and collected, his tapping of the keys the only sound in the room. They'd discussed time, how long it would take Josh to get everything he needed, given what Caroline knew of the size of the database. She kept her eyes on the clock, resisted the urge to bite her nails.

Josh had let out a curse at the six minute mark, his movements growing frantic. They'd hoped for ten, but it seemed like fortune wasn't on their side.

Or maybe that had nothing to do with it. Maybe the minion Tristan paid to be glued to a tablet was just a little too well compensated not to notice something like his boss' kidnapped asset's laptop pulling massive amounts of information that said boss really wouldn't want to be in the wrong hands. Tristan's people were scarily efficient, Caroline knew. She _had_ been one of them.

She peeks over Josh's shoulder, trying not to crowd him. The screen stills, before growing black, all the lights fading at once. Josh's shoulders slump, and he shakes out his hands. He twists and glances over at Caroline, "Well, I'm glad you're not going to miss it because your laptop is well and truly fried."

He doesn't seem upset, but Caroline presses, "Did you get it all?"

"Not quite. Maybe seventy percent? I'll have to look."

He doesn't seem to be in any hurry to do that though. He's cracking his neck, reaching for a bottle of water. But he was a vampire, so it's not like he had to worry about dehydration. Caroline steps forward, waving at the functional laptop, "Well? What are you waiting for?"

It's not like they were swimming in time here. They had things to accomplish and the lackadaisical vibe was grating on Caroline.

Josh blinks at her, but Marcel chuckles from behind them. "Not so fast. You've got somewhere to be."

 _That_ was news to Caroline.

She lifts a brow, crossing her arms, "Oh, really? Where?"

He grins, takes zero offense to her biting tone (which she'd totally meant to be offensive!), "You've got a date with some witches. Your friend made a breakthrough last night. Wanted to get you right away but was bullied into sleeping and powering up first. Looks like you're about to get your memories back. I look forward to meeting you, Caroline Forbes."

She stops breathing, a million feelings rushing through her. Shock, because she'd been told it was impossible so many times that she'd truly believed it. Joy. Relief, that she would finally _know_ herself. There were nerves there too. A sharp stab of fear, the idea that things could get worse nagging at her.

They're all watching her carefully, with varying degrees of interest. It's habit that keeps Caroline from reacting outwardly, her inner turmoil not for public consumption. She lifts her chin, meets Marcel's eyes steadily. "I guess I'd better get going then. In Freya's workspace?" she'd been up there a few times, answering questions. Talking to Bonnie, trying to piece together her former life.

"Yes. They're waiting for you. Good luck," Marcel offers.

Caroline doesn't reply, leaves the room quietly, smiles tightly in response to Josh's tentative wave as she goes. She'd already been informed this was going to hurt like hell so she wasn't feel all that lucky.

Pain she could handle. It was only temporary.

She just really wanted it to be worth it.

* * *

Klaus shatters the glass in his hand the first time he hears her scream. He barely feels it slicing through his skin, nor the sting of the alcohol making its way into the cuts. Because the first shout is followed by a second, this one less surprised and more distressed. Hearing it, knowing that they've just begun to work on Caroline's memories, makes focusing on a minor bit of his own pain impossible for Klaus.

Freya had told him that this would happen, that the spells placed on Caroline were deep and that they would not come down gently. He'd been forbidden from witnessing it, his sister claiming she didn't trust him not to interfere and that they couldn't have him disturbing Bonnie after she'd begun.

It would only make it worse, she'd told him, more unpleasant for Caroline, if they had to start again. Klaus had agreed, grudgingly, to stay away and occupy himself elsewhere in the house.

Accomplishing anything of note, however, was unlikely to happen, his senses focused on the room above him. He hears footsteps, soft chanting. Caroline's hoarsely voiced cries occasionally rising above the scrape of what he assumes are her nails clawing at the floor.

Elijah reproaches him, "At _least_ pull out the glass, Niklaus. It'll never heal that way and you're making a mess. We _just_ replaced that carpet."

Klaus throws his brother a hard look, one that would make most flee his sight in fear. Elijah remains relaxed, turning a page in his newspaper. Klaus does as he's told after a moment, digging out the embedded shards and watching his skin heal. Elijah offers him a handkerchief and he takes it, managing to suppress a sigh of annoyance.

"I'm sure the girl will be fine," Elijah says calmly. "Miss Bennett is exceptionally talented, you know. Particularly when she's motivated."

Klaus gets himself a fresh glass, doesn't bother to comment. He _knows_ that, hence why he'd placed tracking down the Bennett witch so high on his list of priorities. But he has no desire to discuss Caroline with Elijah, not now and likely not ever. He'd retreated to his study to be alone but Elijah had followed. Klaus suspects Freya's influence, that she'd wanted someone capable of at least slowing Klaus should his control fray.

He can feel Elijah watching him, and Klaus turns to stare back, lifting an eyebrow. "If you've something to say, brother, spit it out."

Elijah debates for a moment, before setting his paper down. He leans back and rests an ankle on his opposite knee. Klaus regrets asking the question immediately, once Elijah settles into _that_ posture. It's familiar, one he uses when he's set on being overbearing. "I'm curious, Niklaus. How is it that you came to care for a friend of Elena Gilbert's?"

Klaus grits his teeth, and takes a sip of his drink. It would be pointless to deny it, he knows. For all that he and Elijah have been at odds over the years there's no one who can read Klaus better. He settles on a truth, but a vague one. "Many things happened that you were not privy to in Mystic Falls, Elijah."

"Evidently. Aurora seems to think Miss Forbes was a momentary infatuation of yours. And usually I'd be inclined to agree, given your… habits. But, if that were the case, why would Tristan go to such trouble? Taking her, altering her memories of you. Keeping her with him all this time."

Klaus has also wondered at Tristan's motives. It's something he'll need to find out. He's saved from replying to Elijah by Bonnie's voice growing louder, and the lights in the room flickering briefly, reacting to an enormous output of magic. Caroline lets out one last shriek, high and loud until it breaks off into a whimper, and then there's _nothing_ from upstairs, no voices or movement, the silence almost eerie.

Klaus hesitates for only an instant before he's speeding from the room.

He'll allow Elijah to draw his own conclusions.

Klaus is less than pleased to be greeted by the sight of Enzo, leaning against the wall outside of Freya's workspace, when he gets upstairs. Enzo's ceased to react to Klaus' presence with anything but an irritatingly geniality and it grates. He barely moves from his slouched position when Klaus approaches. "Witchy barrier still intact, mate. You're going to have to wait."

Not something Klaus is prepared to do. He raises his voice, just loud enough to carry through the closed door. "Freya," he grits out warningly, knowing she'll read the tone perfectly well. That she'll understand that either the door opens immediately or Klaus will reduce it to matchsticks. Sure enough he hears his sister's familiar sigh, and the sound of her approaching the doorway.

She throws the door open with an unimpressed look, and swipes the toe of her boot through the salt line that made up the magical barrier. Klaus plows past her before she can scold him, Enzo just a few steps behind him. He pauses, upon seeing Caroline crumpled on the floor. The Bennett witch is next to her, Caroline's head resting on her lap. She looks up at Klaus tiredly. Her voice is weak when she speaks, "She's fine. I think. Just out."

"How long?" Klaus asks, the question clipped.

He only receives a shrug in reply.

He'd rarely been so annoyed by the unpredictability of spells.

"Did it work?" he demands, turning to look at Freya.

Much like Elijah she doesn't react to the edge in his tone. "We won't know for sure until she wakes up," she tells him. Freya turns away, and busies herself with clearing off a sofa in the corner. "We just have to wait and see. Let's get her off the floor. Enzo, would you mind going to grab something for Bonnie to eat? The spell took a lot out of her and I'm guessing she's not going to be willing to leave Caroline until she's up."

Bonnie nods determinedly and Enzo only hesitates a minute before heading back downstairs. Klaus takes a step forward and Bonnie glares. Klaus ignores her, leaning down and easily picking Caroline up. He tenses, smelling her blood and quickly deposits her on the cleared sofa. He brushes her hair back from her face. The skin around her eyes is stained rust red, a smear leading down her cheek. Caroline seems to have bitten through her lip at one point and it's healing slowly. Klaus swallows down the angry noise that's trying to claw its way out. He wants to threaten, make it known that he'll be incredibly displeased if whatever Bonnie had done had failed. If she'd forced Caroline to endure such pain for nothing.

He resists only because she remains Caroline's friend. And, assuming that her memories have been restored, Caroline will have very pointed words for Klaus on the subject of his treatment of her friends, should she find out. And he'd really rather avoid that.

They have much more enjoyable things to discuss. Though he imagines she'll want to address the way she'd come to New Orleans before they get to anything pleasant.

Bonnie moves carefully around Klaus, keeping as much distance as possible between them as she settles near Caroline's feet. It's almost amusing, and in most other circumstances he'd point it out, attempt to make her uncomfortable. But as she focuses on Caroline he's reminded that he and the Bennett witch have a common goal. They remain silent, both of their attention on Caroline's still form. It's not precisely comfortable, nor is it as awkward as it once might have been. Klaus feels Freya come up beside him, "I think it will be fine," she tells him quietly, her eyes on Caroline. "She told us to keep going. Said she had to know."

He'd heard that, of course. Had been both impressed and exasperated by Caroline's characteristic stubbornness. And relieved to find it intact, though he'd not doubted it. He sees her fingers twitch against the upholstery, holds his breath as she lets out a soft grumble of discomfort. Her eyes blink open, hazy at first and sharpening once they find his. Klaus braces himself, half-expects that tinge of fear that had greeted him days ago, before they'd managed to convince Caroline that he wasn't quite the monster he'd been painted as (at least as far as she personally was concerned).

But he sees no fear. Just a furrow of confusion, and then the widening of her eyes in recognition. Her head snaps to Bonnie and a rough laugh bubbles out of her. "Oh my god, Bonnie!" Caroline launches herself across the cushions, and practically tackles her friend, burying her face in the witch's shoulder. Her next words are muffled, "You're a genius and I love you," but Klaus manages to catch them.

The Bennett witch is laughing too, and it's a touch watery. She awkwardly pats Caroline on the back, "Love you too, but you're kind of squishing me, Care."

Caroline backs off immediately, and she pulls Bonnie up gingerly, studying her, "Crap, sorry. Did I hurt you? I'm just so excited. It's been _so_ long."

Bonnie shakes her head, watching Caroline carefully. "I'm fine, promise. So… you're back?"

Caroline takes a minute to answer, and a rapid cycle of emotions crosses her face. "I think so? I remember everything. I…" she falters, swallowing heavily. "I can't believe I didn't… For so long I…" and then the tears are spilling and Klaus finds himself looking away. It's odd, feeling so helpless, but he's aware that there's very little he can do, at this precise moment, to ease Caroline's pain and confusion.

She needs to _feel_ it, to process. To think through who she'd been for the last decade and remember who she'd been before.

He'll let her come to him, after she's had some time to think. He has questions, needs to know how Tristan had found her. He's certain Caroline will have many of her own.

Klaus takes a step back, motioning for Freya to follow him, assuming Caroline would prefer privacy, the opportunity to catch up with her friend. He catches her eyes just before he slips out the door, offers her a smile that he hopes is reassuring. It's difficult to make himself walk away, but she _does_ currently reside in his home. Klaus knows he'll have plenty of opportunities to speak with her, in the coming days.

And weeks and months and years, because he's vowed to keep better track of Caroline's movements. She's important to him, and he's long since passed a point where he can change that, even if he wanted to. Tristan had noted it, and though he was the oldest and most capable of Klaus' enemies, and soon to be extinguished, he was far from the only one who could pose a threat.

Many will die, having sided with Tristan. Klaus assumes that some of the more intelligent will have fled, that it will take time to track them down. He knows he can't keep Caroline within his grasp indefinitely, not without causing friction. She'd been in search of freedom, when Tristan had stolen it from her. He assumes she'll want it once more.

Klaus will do what he must, kill and threaten whoever necessary, for her to have it.

* * *

Caroline stood outside of Klaus' bedroom door for a _long_ time, trying to gather the courage to knock. Klaus had disappeared so quickly after she'd woken up. He'd been there, and then gone, and she'd barely had time to process his presence. Bonnie had quickly captured her attention and they'd talked for close to two hours before Bonnie could no longer hold in her yawns. She'd insisted Bonnie go take a nap, told her she'd more than earned it. Enzo had backed her up and between the two of them Bonnie had been given little option but to cave.

Alone, her thoughts had drifted back to Klaus. He'd looked exactly the same, of course. But it had been so long.

She'd sought out Freya, remembering how accommodating she'd been since Caroline had arrived and hoping that would continue. Caroline was seriously going to need an explanation for how Freya even existed at some point. How does a completely mortal sister pop up after a thousand years? Caroline sometimes wondered if new weird things would ever stop coming at her. At least Freya was _far_ less abrasive than Rebekah was and hadn't even blinked when Caroline had asked how to find Klaus' room. Small mercies. It occupied a top corner of the house and the sounds from the lower floors were muted, at least to her senses. Klaus' were probably a different story, Caroline mused.

And immediately felt like a moron.

Because he _had_ to be completely aware of her standing outside of his room dithering like an idiot. Was _letting_ her do it. She considered retreating, but that would only make her embarrassment more intense. Might as well brazen it out. Scowling to herself she stood up straight and knocked sharply. The door opened immediately, and to Klaus' credit he mostly hid his amusement. She found her eyes narrowing, a glare forming anyway. It only made the slight smirk he wore grow wider. "Caroline, what a surprise," Klaus greeted her pleasantly, managing to say it without a hint of mocking. "Would you like to come in?"

"No," Caroline said quickly, pushing aside the fleeting thought about how strange being invited into Klaus' bedroom was. Along with the urge to peek over his shoulder and see what his room even looked like. Hey, you could tell a lot about a person from their bedroom, couldn't you? And he'd already seen hers, embarrassing posters and all. "But thanks. This won't take long. I need to shower, I'm still a little gross." She'd wiped off the worst of the blood on her face, but her eyelashes were still gritty and clumped together. "I just wanted to say thank you. For helping me. I'm going to magnanimously ignore the whole kidnapping part. Since you were kind of doing me a favor."

"Gracious of you," Klaus drawls as he leans against his doorframe, "And thanks are unnecessary, sweetheart. As your predicament was entirely my fault."

" _Not_ entirely," Caroline corrects, shaking her head. "I'm the idiot who bumbled my way into the aftermath of your arch enemy death match. I probably should have called ahead."

Klaus doesn't crack a smile at her joke, his eyes sharpening and staying locked on her face. "What do you mean?"

Caroline fidgets under his scrutiny, feeling awkward about the confession she's about to make. "I was in St. Petersburg."

"I knew that actually. Your friend mentioned that was the last place she got a postcard from."

"Well, when I was travelling, I discovered that I kind of like museums. Art galleries too."

Klaus' face reads pleasure after she rushes the words out, and there's a hint of smugness that makes Caroline roll her eyes. She'd _known_ he'd take it that way and hurries to explain. "Not everything is about _you_ , Klaus, so don't look at me like that. They're quiet, and the people watching is excellent. And I like pretty things, okay?"

"Of course," he replies, schooling his face into a neutral expression. There's a light in his eyes though, and she knows that he's not buying her denials. And okay, fine. Maybe her habit had been a _little_ about him. She'd embraced food easily on her travels, sampling anything and everything she could get her hands on. Became _super_ thankful for her vampire's metabolism. There was a lot to sample and so much of what she tried was _good_. And required a second taste. Sometimes a third.

Culture wasn't hard either. Caroline liked people, and people liked her. She did her best with the languages and locals were usually happy to laugh at her, and indulge her questions, suggest things she should do and see. She followed their advice, found gems that she never would have otherwise.

Art had taken longer, Caroline had picked up a camera at some point, started pointing it at things that intrigued her, thinking that scrapbooks would be cool. She'd found that she'd really enjoyed looking at the world through her lens. A building with a weathered façade, a boulevard covered in flowers. A clump of people laughing over lunch. One day she'd gotten to talking to a woman in Zurich, about shutter speeds and color saturation. The woman had handed Caroline a flyer, invited her to an opening at a gallery.

She'd gone, mingled, studied works that she didn't necessarily _like_ but found that she could imagine stories behind them. And from there Caroline had been kind of hooked, made a point to check out different galleries in every city she stopped by, some famous and some off the beaten path. She even had a fair cache of purchases, mostly photos but some paintings, even a sculpture or two, tucked away in a storage space. Caroline really hoped they were okay.

She snaps herself out of her remembrances. Klaus is waiting patiently for her to continue. And while he appears as though there's nothing he'd rather be doing than waiting for her to gather her thoughts Caroline knows that he probably has things to do. She can't help but be a little charmed by his reluctance to rush her. It managed to be every bit as annoying and as weirdly endearing (because she _knew_ it wasn't a courtesy he'd extend just anyone) as ever.

Caroline huffs, crosses her arms, and braces herself for the next part of her tale. The self-satisfied thing he was doing was only going to get worse. "So, St. Petersburg. The Hermitage. I spent two days wandering around when I saw a landscape. And I knew it was yours." Klaus looks surprised, and Caroline rushes ahead. "And I wasn't looking for it! Honestly, I'd kind of forgotten. I mean, you mentioned it once back when I was convinced you were totally evil and just trying to get into my pants because you thought I was an easy way to manipulate Elena."

Klaus' expression turns darker, lips pressing together like he wants to protest and Caroline holds up her hand to stall him. She doesn't need an explanation, or even a denial. It had been a long time ago, and _so_ much had happened since. She wasn't the girl she'd been. The fact that she's standing in this hallway is proof enough that whatever his initial motives had been they no longer mattered. "Yes, I know. Bygones. The point is I found your painting. And I didn't even have to check the signature. It just _felt_ like you. And it got _me_ thinking about you."

She holds her breath, fidgeting nervously as she waits for his reaction.

"And what did you _think_ about, love?" Klaus asks lowly, and Caroline's not sure what to make of his expression. There's intrigue there, and satisfaction. Something warm and greedy and _predatory_ that makes her stomach clench.

She remembers how anxious she'd been buying that ticket to New Orleans, wondering if she was being a presumptuous idiot. If Klaus would even remember her, since it had been years since that day they'd spent in the woods and they'd had no contact.

Though she has no doubts _now_ that he would have, given the lengths he'd gone to for her. Watching him, how _still_ he is, the way he watches her, she's never been surer of anything. That he still seems to want her is a revelation and Caroline's surprised by how welcome it is.

She thinks about reaching out, about touching him. Aches to do it, but she knows it's not the time.

Caroline clears her throat. Decides it's probably best to avoid his leading question and tears her gaze away before she could decide 'screw it' and shove him into his room. "Anyway. Spontaneity was kind of my goal back then so I packed my bags and headed your way. I was gonna drink a ton of hurricanes, eat some beignets. Say hi, and maybe take you up on that tour you once offered. Figured you'd know all the cool places."

The idea of possibly indulging in some hot hybrid vampire sex _might_ have been on her mind back then. But there's no way she's going to say that out loud.

"But I didn't know where you were, exactly. Thought you might have moved on. I'd heard things, here and there. Enough to know New Orleans wasn't exactly short on vampires. I found a bar, and asked around. And that's when someone snapped my neck."

God, if that never happened to her again it would be too soon.

"And when I woke up Tristan was there." Caroline says. She finds herself cringing, the memories of what had happened next not ones she's had time to examine. Not ones she wants to, afraid of what will happen if she does. She takes a shaky breath, tries to keep her recitation clinical. "He… knew me. My name. That you and I were… well, whatever we were. Said he'd been looking for me, and wasn't it lucky that I fell into his lap?"

She laughs, aiming for self-deprecating but it comes out harsh. Caroline looks down, blinking rapidly. She kind of wants to flee, hates that she's really freaking close to crying. Wasn't she tougher than this? What was another round of torture, an unending barrage of questions she had no answer to? It should have been old hat but Tristan had been thorough. And exacting. It had taken him a very long time to be convinced that she'd known nothing. The horrible acts he'd told her that Klaus was known for, the ones he'd used to reinforce her fear of being captured again? The nightmares that had fueled Caroline when she'd wanted to quit working for Tristan's goal? All things he'd done to her.

She flinches, feeling something brush her face. Klaus has drifted closer, and his palm cups her cheek, urging her to look at him. There's something wild in his eyes, a burning determination. He's angry, his jaw tight, but she knows it's not directed at her. "What did he do, Caroline?"

Caroline shakes her head. "I don't want to talk about it. I can't, Klaus. Not now."

She can hear his teeth snap together, watches him go rigid as he fights for control the flare of yellow that rings his pupils telling her it's difficult. His hand remains gentle however, thumb feathering over her jaw. "He'll regret it," Klaus tells her, sure and steady. "I promise."

That brings her to the second reason she'd come here.

"I'm still in," she tells Klaus firmly. It's not a request, it's something she _needs_. "I won't be kept in the dark like I'm broken. It was my life he took. I want to know why. And I want him dead."

She's prepared to fight but she doesn't need to. Klaus' mouth twists, the curl of it savage even as his eyes glow gold. Her blood pumps faster in response and she feels herself smiling back, her fangs very close to dropping, monster achingly close to the surface at the promise of violence. It might have horrified her, once upon a time. But Tristan doesn't deserve her pity. Will never earn her forgiveness. She leans into Klaus' touch, unable to help herself.

"Anything you want," Klaus murmurs. He shifts closer, his fingertips falling and tracing the line of her throat. "Marcel gave you the basics but I'd be happy to tell you what I've been up to. What's to come, should my plans fall into place. And they will."

"And I want to talk to Aurora," Caroline adds before she can become too distracted, lose herself in the feel of him so near, the scent of his skin a heady temptation. She's not used to being able to take something she wants. And she knows Klaus would be happy to indulge her.

Plotting to murder her enemies seemed to be a kink she hadn't known she had. That it's one of Klaus'? Not a surprise.

Klaus' head tips to the side, his hand warm on her collarbone. "If you're sure. I'm fairly certain she's just a pawn, sweetheart. Won't be able to tell you much."

Caroline pulls back abruptly, wary of his hesitation, " _Please_ don't tell me you're actually still in love with her. She would be _insufferable_."

Klaus snorts, his denial immediate, "Hardly."

"Are you sure? She talked about you. A lot. _More_ than a lot. I'm kinda weirded out by the sex stories now. Wish I could scrub my brain of her detailed recital of how you deflowered her. Although, _Nik_ sounded a little different from the Klaus I know."

Klaus looks affronted. "He was. I _am_. A thousand years, love. It's a very long time. You're not quite old enough to know what it means. But think about your life. How different was the Caroline you were on your graduation day from the Caroline you were when you stood alone in The Hermitage?"

She has to admit he has a point. The girl she'd been fresh out of high school, intent on living out the things she'd planned as a human would never have even considered flying halfway across the world on a whim, let alone doing it to see Klaus. If she could change _that_ much in a handful of years, after a couple of big blows and some time on her own, how different would she be in a century? A millennium was unfathomable.

Caroline nods, "Okay, so you're over her. Why don't you want me to talk to her?"

"Simple. Aurora's vicious, particularly when backed into a corner. There's no need to subject yourself to her poison when she's entirely useless."

"I can't decide if that's sweet or a little condescending," Caroline muses. "But either way, I can handle Aurora. I always forced myself to be nice to her but I'm totally willing to go _full_ mean girl."

Understatement. Caroline was looking forward to it, itching to push the buttons she'd never allowed herself to. She can see that Klaus' resistance is crumbling, and that she's nearly got him convinced.

"I need answers, Klaus," Caroline presses. "She's in a cage. What can she _really_ do to me?"

He studies her for a long moment, and Caroline stares back, lets him see how determined she is. She's doing this, one way or another. Klaus agreeing just makes things easier. Finally he smiles wryly, "I did say whatever you wanted, didn't I? Hate to make myself a liar, after I've been doing so well."

Caroline grins, bites her lip, relief flooding her. Another tiny bit of control, getting something she wants, after everything feels kind of amazing. She wants to hug Klaus, is practically bursting with the urge. But they'd never really progressed to the hugging kind of friendship. Caroline settles for stepping into him, planting a kiss on his cheek. Klaus inhales sharply, his hands brushing her arms like he wants to haul her closer.

Caroline steps back quickly, shocked by how much she _wants_ that. "Thank you," she tells him seriously, before flashing a smirk. "Figuring out a way to sneak into the dungeons would have been _such_ a hassle."

She flees before he can say anything else. Doesn't look back.

Even with years between the last time she'd seen him and now, everything that had happened, Klaus remained way too much of a challenge to her self-control.

The only thing that had changed was how little that bothered her.


End file.
